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Not for all the tea in China

I would not wish you small again, not for all the tea in China.
Your chubby little arms that circled my neck every morning when I lifted you from your crib forever softened my spirit. The baby-lotioned scent of your weight in my arms and the love-struck sound of my own off-key voice are a part of who I am today and who I dream of  becoming when all has been said and done.
But I would not wish you small again, not for all the rubles in Russia. 
Your windchime giggles that faded in and out as the backyard swing took you away and brought you back with all the sweeping regularity I could muster still compel me to laugh with more abandon because I have known true joy and that's not something I can easily forget.
But I would not wish you small again, not for all the Northern lights in the Arctic.
Your mispronounced vocabulary that grew a little more every day showed us things you were learning as you watched the world around you - things we learned long ago but forgot that they mattered …

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