I find myself looking back at these pictures of my daughters when they were knee high to an ant, and I wonder how it all happens, this thing called growing up. One minute there they are, my little wonders, my little miracles, and the next my now-7 year old tells me, “Not a baby. A big girl.” And she’s right. My little wonder is now her own slightly bigger wonder. And while I know that’s the way it’s supposed to be, I miss my babies.