On this, perhaps the eve of my motherhood . . .

I think of the daughter whose name I may hear for the first time tomorrow.

I think of my scared precious girl, bundled tightly, posed for her first photos, in a walker, perhaps, not knowing the arms that will embrace her in a few short months.

I think of her wary eyes, surveying this woman's braid, that man's scratchy goatee, and both with strange hair, strange eyes, strange smells.

I think of whispering into the folds of her sweet babyneck, "It's ok to be scared, amazing girl." Its ok to cry when nothing in your short life has been in your control.

And when you cry, sweet girl, hold on to me, and I'll sing to you.

And together, we'll find our way . . .

Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents.

I can't recall the first time I read this sentence.

I must have been nine or ten, maybe. Somewhere amidst my dysfunctional, constantly uprooted childhood, I discovered Louisa May Alcott's opening words to Little Women.

My relationship with this novel (and with the amazing character of Jo March) has been one of the few constants, one of the rare friendships that has survived my childhood.

I am grateful to Louisa and the wonderful March family that became my imaginary surrogate clan, whose holiday dinners were the ones I wish I had.

This book is never far from my nightstand. And as Christmas 2007 approaches, Marmee's girls will allow me to curl up with them once more.