She was so tiny and seemed to be always fighting. She was trying to talk and send her message. She would pluck many times on her plastic pink piano trying to convey words that she was here, she was alright. She was more than alright, but how would she tell them. Half the size of others, food was hard to go down. Greasy to her things would make her stomach sick. She would pull slabs of dry meat out to eat them. That was mainly what she liked. Things that were plain and not complicated to her mind she ate and seem to be able to connect to. Those were the things that she could digest with no problem. The whispers and cries at night, about her. The doctors visit and countless measurements were persistent in her life. The worried look but business-like with a professional smile from the doctor that she would be fine. She would grow and catch up, but her professional sense would show as well. The worried looks would carry home with her. She didn't notice; she was just a little girl.
