Sometimes it feels there is no boundary between her skin and mine. Overlapping like water over sand. I felt it deep in today’s early morning wake-up, which shuffled my feet from our dark room to hers. Head plunged into her hair, damp pillow, like I never left my own bed. Thin difference. Sometimes none. Perhaps this is why parenting her can feel so hard. I feel my own faults, fears, hopes, power, right below the surface. Is it hers, or mine? She breathes in as I breathe out. Like the cord was never cut.