Keenie was little in a Very Big Way. She had grown from tiny to small knowing with every bitty ounce that made up her body that whenever she was afraid or unsure that she could cling close and that together we would be big.
Some would say that this was a bad thing, a thing in the way of independence. Keenie, being wise, understood that it was a place to learn. It was in this way that she learned the names for things that would have otherwise been nameless terrors. She learned the scale of them through my bigness rather than from her small.
She did not start with baby steps, she learned the gait of a grown woman, riding in a swath of fabric wrapped to my chest from the littlest of her days. She did not start with childish fears, she learned the rhythm of my breath as I confronted the hugeness of the world from the scale of being fully grown.
And as her own self became bigger with each passing day, she would squirm from my arms to stamp around her world with the confidence of a child that understands the shape she’s growing into, not the vulnerability of one forced to grow before her time.