Who Is This Child?

Remember when I was taking pictures of Freestone's dance and someone called?  Later, when I listened to the message, it was for Golda, asking if she would speak in Sacrament meeting.  I quickly texted back that she would, that she would love to, in fact, and I knew it was true.  Sometimes Golda even complains that she never gets to speak.  Who is this child?!

Today is her 17th birthday, and I've been asking myself that question, "Who is this child," for about that long.  Who is this baby with the red curls and the determined face, who won't snuggle, afraid she might miss something there is to see?  I hadn't known she would come with a fully formed personality!

Who is this child, only two years old, who can draw pictures of dogs like a pro, and whose first sentence is, "I want one, a puppy."

Who is this child, going off into the world of public school?  I thought she would stay little longer!  That big girl couldn't be my baby!

Who is this child, running for student council?  Did I suggest that?  No.  When did she start having all these ideas that are her own, all these plans I didn't instigate?

Who is this child that is such a beautiful dancer?  Where did she get those lines, that drive, that passion?  How could I not have noticed all the hours of class piling up, and Golda using each one to become this incredible ballerina?

Who is this child who knows more about music than I do?  How does she get such a beautiful sound out of that flute, and when did she begin to appreciate her abilities?  It must have been somewhere along the way, when I was so busy reminding her to practice that I didn't notice where it had gotten her.

Who is this girl with the courage to go with her sister to Europe, all alone, for five weeks?  How did she get so brave?  Why does she long to leave us, to see the world?

Who is this young woman, asleep on Golda's bed, at rest in an immaculate bedroom, surrounded by our daughter's recital costumes, her slender fingers stretched out above her head, reaching toward her carefully marked scriptures?

And where did my baby go, the one with the soft, red curls?