My daughter has a habit of asking me one million questions before bedtime. For a few months, it was asking for one more drink of water, or another bedtime story. Here lately, her attention has shifted toward inquiring about more obscure and ambiguous issues. She’ll ask me why birds have wings or why the grass can’t be purple. Then, she’ll ask her papa why he has to work and what she can be when she grows up. We always try to think on our toes and come up with an answer that she’ll be satisfied with, but more often than not, we turn to each other a few minutes later and ask if we got it right or not.

The other night, I was preparing to turn her lamp off and head downstairs, when she noticed my wedding rings. She asked if she could have a wedding ring one day, and if papa could give it to her. I felt my heart turn into a puddle right there on her bedroom carpet and I assured her that one day she’d meet someone very special who would give her a ring even more beautiful than mine. That seemed to appease her and she rolled over, clutched her beloved teddy bear, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I thought about our bedtime conversation while preparing my coffee before the sunrise. I wondered how much longer she’d be asking those types of questions, and when they would change their depth. I know she won’t always want to marry her papa, or need to know where the sun goes when the moon comes up. She won’t always care if her pink barrette is on the left side or the right side and if her special unicorn shirt matches her ice cream cone pants. I’m very much aware that we’re in a peculiarly beautiful, special and fleeting time in our relationship where she still thinks I have all the answers to all the questions and can do no wrong, except when I try to help her pronounce her sight words, which is a crime in her eyes.

I remember vaguely what it was like to be in her shoes. I still believe my parents to be the most intelligent people in the world and they’re still the ones I turn first to for advice on hard life topics. Yet, there was a time not too long ago when I literally believed they hung the moon in the sky at night just for me. They didn’t have any flaws or shortcomings and their beliefs were my beliefs, no questions asked. It was a simpler time back then, that’s for sure. I didn’t have the weight of scholarly duties, relationship issues, and financial responsibility weighing heavily on my shoulders. Then, I grew up a little, hit a few milestones like high school graduation, college commencement, job placement, and babies of my own. Suddenly, more than thirty years had passed and as I’d grown, so had my view of the world.

My daughter, and her brother who sleeps down the hall, are asleep under stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars I bought them for their birthdays. When they wake, they’ll call out to me from their beds, and I’ll run up the stairs to greet them with the sun. We’ll pour the oatmeal and turn the channels and pack the backpacks and I’ll send them off to preschool, their little feet running up to the front door with unabashed fervor. They’ll learn so much within those doors, and they’ll find answers to many of the questions that swirl around in their minds. I’m grateful for teachers and mentors who can guide them along their journey, opening their eyes to facts and knowledge that only they possess. Still, there are some things they’ve yet to learn from their mother, and it’s the joy of my life to share that with them as we both grow up together.