By Kate Bailey | “I think I grew a lot last night!” you say almost every morning now, stretching your torso so long it almost curves back, your chin up in the air. “I think you’re right!” I reply, and though mostly I say it because it spreads a proud smile across your face, I also know that it’s true.

By Kate Bailey | I look at the seat of the grocery cart, and I wonder if she’s getting too big for it. “I can fit, mommy! I’m small!” She’s right. She slides right in, kicks her legs back and forth, and grips the handlebar.

By Kate Bailey | When we were little, my sister and I technically had separate bedrooms. We lived in a modest home, and our rooms were directly across the tiny hall from one another. We kept our things in our assigned spaces, but every night it seemed, we ended up in my sister’s room together.

By Kate Bailey | To whom falls in love with my daughter, I couldn’t stop thinking about you today while I laid down next to April for a nap. A small baby - only 21 months old - just a fresh, new thing on this planet. It was a cloudy day, but somehow the little bit of sunlight there filtered its way through my curtains and danced across her face.

By Kate Bailey | I have this terrible anxiety that finds me every time I try to write these pieces. It’s suddenly as if I’ve lost my voice. As if, out of nowhere, every word feels flawed and deserves the tap-tap-tap of my backspace button. Nothing feels big enough. Revolutionary enough. Earth-shattering enough. It all feels so small.