I love how you love me. You tell me that when I'm old you'll take care of me. You like to remind me how much I love you. When I go around the van to open the door for you, you say to me, "You love your little girl so much. You don't want to leave her out in the van to die!" Yes, you're melodramatic, effusive. But how I love your enthusiasm, the feel of your little arms around my neck, that when you grow up you want to be a mom just like me. "The perfect mom," you say, and I know it's ridiculous, but I still love that you say it.