Now when I look back on Clara’s birth I can’t help but think of the girl she is now, and the memory of her birth grows better and better because it’s colored by who she would and will become. In essence, in my memory I project her current self onto that big-eyed fragile creature who sucked her two middle fingers almost immediately (which she still does when tired.) I want to hold her and protect her and tell her all the things she’s going to do and people she’s going to meet. I had no idea who she was when I first saw her. Now I know everything about her – what she likes, what makes her sad, where her tickle spots are. Memories tend to get better when the person you are remembering is laying in your lap, singing twinkle twinkle little star. And she’s only two years old -- I can only imagine what other parents have felt when their children grow up.