It's a huge day.

This post is not about my mother.

(I know, you're all like, "WTF? I thought this was all, 'Cancer cancer cancer, TBIs, margins and cells and embos and stuff'?"

And I'd say, "It was really hard remembering where to put the single quote and the double quote, so give me a break, OK?")

This post is about my daughter.

Four hours old, and mugging for the camera. March 2010.

Today, the best version of myself graduates from preschool. Those of you who are not parents can skim over the majority of the blog, but those who have a kid understand the gravity of this moment.

She's hardly a baby. She's a full-fledged being, with thoughts and desires and a personality of which Phil and I had only a small amount of input. The Tot has always been her own person, but when I send her off into kindergarten, there will be a new transition, one that will culminate in her flying from the nest. It's only a small tumble to college. The cliche of "it goes by in an instant" is an idiom for a reason: it is so fucking true.

The day she discovered Photo Booth and makeup, 2012.

I've discussed how we can only prepare our children to better this world by starting off small. Create a better nucleus to create a better cell. Be the kind of person you'd want to have as a best friend. I find myself continuously striving to practice what I tell her, because she is my greatest role model. She is kind, generous, loving, intelligent, and unafraid of the world. And for pete's sake, the world needs more kids like her.

She's leaning against the E. 2013.

When she was about seven months old, my grandmother Eleanor had her unveiling (totes a Jewish thing; basically, they cover the tombstone in cheesecloth and then make a big production out of showing it). She was in a Bjorn, and I was (idiotically) traversing this Long Island cemetery in high heels. While wearing an infant. Because fashion.

Anyway, I slipped on a rock and tumbled forward, and without a moment's hesitation, caught Norah's head about three inches from the ground. I remember kissing the thin black hairs on her scalp, whispering, "Nailed it," and refusing anyone's help while standing up.

Clearly, she and I were destined to be relatives. She recently fell off my silks, tumbled forward, and before I could check on her, exclaimed, "NAILED IT!"

Athlete. Artist. Academic.

So, my sweet graduate, moving bravely forward into the wilds of the public school system: I will always be here; for algebra, composition, broken hearts, sore feelings, or for the times you just need your back scratched by Mom.

Congratulations to a phenomenal human.

Today, we celebrate the good feels.