i am, after all these bedtimes and all the tender kisses on someones’ heads, and all the litany of thank-you prayers, and all the one more drinks of water, all the questions that could not wait till morning, all the tucking in of sheets and smoothing blankets, all the one last peeks from there at the doorway before i too turn in, give in to sleepy eyes and sleepier limbs, i am rather practiced in the art of letting go one slice of time, waiting for the morrow.