I paused to reflect, last night as I leaned into the car to scoop out my sleeping daughter, that this was another part of her childhood that I’m not ready to ever give up. I carefully unbuckle her seatbelt, and through some involuntary muscle memory, she raises both arms slightly so I can pick her up. As I nestle her head into the hollow of my shoulder, she goes limp, and I carry her inside the house, usually right up the stairs, and lay her gently in bed.