being a parent means crying over picture books. toys and toys scattered under chairs, under bedspreads, in the laundry.
in the short 10 days I was gone, it's like I missed an entire season for her. as she sleeps I look at how her body stretches more than half the length of the mattress. wasn't she just in a bassinet? didn't she just fit into the crook of my elbow?
now i can't secure her in my elbow to save my life because already, she has places to go. things to see.
while she sleeps, i wait. watch. wonder. thankful for those tiny hands. for the little breaths that fill her lungs. for the milk to fill that bottle. for the clothes to dress her in.
we are blessed indeed.
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