My baby.

This past weekend, my husband took our daughter's senior pictures (he's a professional photographer; we're not just cheap).

As we followed her through Foster Park in Fort Wayne where she was selecting flowers and trees for backgrounds, I remembered the night she was born.

It was the dead of winter. It was frigidly cold, and there was an ice storm. I was in labor for 36 hours, and she was finally born by Caesarian section at 6:16 p.m. on January 4, 1991.

After all my company left that night, I pushed the nurse button and asked the nurse to bring my baby to me. They wheeled her into the room in her little clear-glass bassinet, and the nurse handed her to me.

I propped her up against my knees and just stared at the wonder of her. I remember doing the math in my head and figuring out that she would graduate from high school in 2009.

The year 2009, I thought to myself. We have tons of time together.

And now here it is, 2008. My daughter, who grew up both beautiful and brilliant, will graduate from high school early. She will finish in December, and is entering the nursing program at Ivy Tech in January. She plans to go on to Indiana University from there, and wants to be a trauma or flight nurse ... she thinks. She's also thought about labor and delivery.

I can't believe she's grown up already. It seems like only yesterday I caught that first glimpse of her. This little girl who wore her "Little Mermaid" sundress for three straight months is on the cusp of adulthood and talking about what she's going to do with the rest of her life.

It feels like it happened while I wasn't looking, and I don't know that I'm ready to let go.

Where does the time go?

Those of you who have little girls, hold them tightly. Savor the days of Disney movies, the scent of Strawberry Shortcake bubble bath and frilly little dresses.

They grow up on you, and they do it fast.