It is 2:15am and I am sitting in my daughter’s room, listening to her labored breathing as she battles a horrible congestion. I hear her struggle to catch a breath then she stops for a moment … I wait, I listen, I worry so I whisper “breathe Amalia breathe”. My body is exhausted but my heart is not. I sit on the chair next to her crib contemplating retiring to my room but too worried to leave. This is just another day in my life and I do my best to take such nights in stride with a smile on my face and gratitude in my heart for the blessing my daughter is to my life. My clock will still dingle and dangle at 5:30am begging me to wake up and be off with my busy day. It matters not that this week, with my daughter fighting for some balance in her battle with the most horrible cold she has had to date, I have only afforded 2 to 3 hours sleep a night. The show must go on. I cannot give my baby any less than she deserves. Sitting here now I reflect on my day and my return at the close of the day, weary from my mental haggles. Teary eyed and feverish, she still runs to me, her hug just as tight and her love just as deep. I look at her now, chest rising and falling heavily, noisily; her body bunched up as though bracing herself for a battle. This little girl is the reason I will climb any mountain, why I will bulldoze my way through any setbacks. I want her to know that when it could have been easier for me to just give up I chose a different path, one that required me to be there for her when she needed me but at the same time make the necessary sacrifices and adjustments in my schedule to be a woman she could look up to. I want her to grow up knowing that with the same resilience I see her battling her way through this cold, she can overcome any mountain that comes her way.