What a ridiculous question to be asked on a day like today, of course not!
I wanted her to come home with me, to remember the pony rides around the livingroom, relive bubble bath mustaches, to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches together and watch cartoons while having hilarious footsie wars, to tell her bedtime stories again and have her fall asleep smiling to the sound of my voice.
No, I did not want to say good bye to my precious little girl, but my body rebelled against every ounce of what I truly wanted to say and I looked at her and nodded.
"We can work something out, I'll make sure that this can happen again," she smiled as she called my baby girl over away from play.
I tried to give her the opportunity to run into my arms and beg me to take her home by getting down on my knee, she hugged her mothers' leg as I told her that I was very happy to have met her and that I hoped she would want to be friends and maybe meet again soon.
Her smile was pure luminosity with half grown permanent front teeth, and she looked at her mother for approval and then nodded at me. I almost exploded with happiness and I looked at her mother with an unspoken question also.
Then my sweet little girl was cheerfully laughing, and I was thrilled to hear that familiar sound, the only thing about her that hadn't really changed, and I held out my hand to her on pure instinct. We both stood looking at my outstretched hand for a second and then she smiled and put her hand in mine.
We smiled shyly at each other and I told her how proud of her I was and how big she had become, she giggled and thanked me.
This, this moment in time, was what I had waited for all week, for over four years, and it was almost over as we stepped off the grass and walked toward her mother's car.
I patiently waited as I watched her mother lock her beneath the seatbelt. I saw my reflection overlaying hers like an artsy photographic inspiration and the image filled me with dread. What if I never got to see her again?
What if this is the last time I get to see her for years, will she remember me as the creepy stranger in the park that mommy took her to visit once, and fear filled me up as I looked imploringly at her smiling mother.
"I'm sorry," was all she said with a puckered chin and then she climbed into the driver's seat and started the car.