I almost didn’t recognize her. It was the usual time, the usual bunkbed. My nearly-nine year old sat up amidst her millions of stuffies, rubbed her eyes and scowled at me. Scowled. This, from the child who has greeted me every day with a smile since she first had gas. She’s a happy kid with a ready grin. At least she was. Today, she was grouchy, demanded more sleep. Didn’t want me to touch her. Wouldn’t get out of bed. But more than anything it was the way she looked at me. Like I was more a stranger (or an enemy) than her Mommy.