Groundhogs Day has come to signify the “Deja Vu” phenomenon in popular culture.
And in my house today, that’s exactly what it did.

My daughter sat on my lap and read this book to me.
And as she flipped through the pages, I was overcome with a feeling of familiarity; I have been here before.
…
April, 2010. The day after we came home from the hospital. My sweet doula took me by the hand and led me into bed, instructing me to rest. And I did. Until I woke up, missing my new baby. I walked, gingerly, in my pajamas, into the room next door. In the nursery, I found my baby, nestled in my doula’s lap, listening to a story. Her first story. A story about a child’s love for her mommy. It became real, that day. She was mine. I was hers.

…
Today, as my baby “read” this story aloud, naming the animals on each page, making up words as she went along, I remembered, so distinctly, that first book, on that first day.
As she sat on my lap, as such a big girl, I saw the shadow of what we once were. Of how small she was, then. Of how much we’ve both grown.
If I could wave a wand, and live that moment over and over and over again,
a moment during which my daughter felt so close to me,
a moment in which she is (we are) so happy,
a moment  in which she loves me more than anyone else in the world
and tells me so,
I would do it.
I would do it in a (February) Second.