baby love

I was cleaning the kitchen, listening to some music, and the two-year-old was putting a little plastic Dora into her brother's helicopter in the family room. She turned and saw me. I smiled and waved. She grinned widely, throwing down the helicopter and running through the family and dining rooms, into the kitchen, over to where I was standing, embracing my legs in a huge hug before lifting her hands up in the universal pick-me-up gesture.

I feel very loved.

Sometimes that love feels like a weight.

Mostly, though, it feels like a blessing.

A+