As she stood backstage warming up, her manager came by and, with his usual toothy grin, told her it was another sell-out.
She smiled to herself and shook her head as she looked around at the crew scurrying with last minute details and listened to the crowd chanting her name.
The words of her 7th grade teacher came back to her, as they had every night since the day they were said all those years ago.
“Stop singing, Sara, you sound like a frog.”
The smile was still on her face as she walked onstage and stepped up to the microphone.
I gently trace my finger along every feature of his precious face, committing them not only to my memory, but to my heart and my soul. I whisper hopes and dreams and love for him into his perfect ear.
His tiny fingers grasp mine and I kiss the top of his downy head.