She’s not my little girl. She’s biologically my sister-in-law’s, but sometimes she feels like my kid and I find myself becoming fiercely protective of her.

She has four sisters at home who instill the same reaction in me.

Some days I look at her and she is just 11 and likes to kick soccer balls and run through mud puddles and climb trees.

Other days something she does or says, or a look she gives me, gives me a peek into the future and a chill runs across the top of my skin.

“She’s not ready. She’s just a little girl. She can’t grow up yet,” I start thinking.

Then just as fast as I see her several years from now, she morphs back into an 11 year old and I sigh a bit and feel more relaxed.

One day, though, I know I will look and it will be the other way around. She’ll be a young woman, but I’ll still see a glimpse of an 11-year old girl in her smile.

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