"Mommy, Mommy! Lookit me, I'm a princess!" said the young girl wearing the shiny plastic tiara.

"Yes you are!" I agree, and pull my yoga pant-ed legs up to my chin. I push a couple of toys that were scattered on the floor of the living room out of my way and lean back on my elbows. My daughter takes a running leap and lands on me.

"Oooh!" I groan. "Princesses don't attack other people!"

"I'm not a princess!" the little one laughs.

"Oh? What are you then?"

"I'm a baby tiger!" she yells and bares her tiny teeth.

"Well, if you're a baby tiger, then I'm a ferocious old lion and I'm hungry!" I tickle the little girl's stomach and pretend to bite her with lip covered teeth. Her joyous, high pitched laugh fills my ears and heart.

"You wanna eat?" I ask, relinquishing my fingers from her ribs.

"Yes!" the little princess/baby tiger exclaims. I grab onto her tiny hand and we storm from the cluttered living room to the soon-to-be-cluttered kitchen. I place a scoop of mac-and-cheese on a small plastic plate for her and two scoops on a bigger plate for me.

The four year old holds a small hand in her curly choclate brown hair; hair like her fathers. Her almond shaped eyes are focused on the cheesy noodles she's shoving into her tiny mouth; eyes and a mouth like her mother. When the four year old was done eating, she jumped into the bubbly, toy infested bath water, then out and into pink pajamas with my assistance, just like we do every night. I carried her from the bathroom and into her bed. As her tiny head hit the pillow, I moved her hair out of her face.

"Do you want me to read you a story sweety?" I ask quietly.

The little one musters a small sleepy smile and nods. With each story that I read, the four year old's eyes drooped. When they were completely closed and her breathing grew deep, I turned off the lamp on the side of her bed and kissed her on the cheek.

"Goodnight Delilah," I whisper, get up, and start for the door.

"Mommy, can you sing me my song?" a little voice begs.

A small smile creeps across my face as I return to her bed, sit down on the edge of it and run my hands through her hair.

"Hey there Delilah whats it like it New York City,

I'm a thousand miles away, but girl tonight you look so pretty

Yes you do. Time Square can't shine as bright as you, you know its true

Hey there Delilah, don't you worry about the distance,

I'm right there, if you get lonley, give this song another listen

Close your eyes. Listen to my voice its my disguise,

Oh its what you do to me, Oh its what you do to me

Oh its what you do to me, Oh its what you do to me

What you do to me..."

I watch my beautiful daughter fall asleep under the safe caress of my voice. We have lived this way, doing the same routine every night, for a year. And I know that as long as she's here, I'll never become tired of repetetive days, because I look back on the days before these, and know that even though they brought me to this point, I would never like to return to them. I think about the heart ache, the pains, and the troubles, of becoming pregnant at 15.