When my little girl wakes up in the morning she looks like a little rose. A little pinkish-red rose. Her cheeks are just that color. Her skin is so soft and delicate. The sweetest, most tender expression shines forth. Her dark, long, think, and perfectly disordered hair—just like her mother’s—wonderfully frames and presents her perfect little features. And her tiny, sleepy voice usually calls out the sweetest one-word query and request: “Daddy?”