A NIGHTLY ROUTINE
Each night I check on the girl before going to bed and the end of another chaotic day slows down for the briefest of moments. As I pull the blanket up and kiss her forehead, I can't help but become overwhelmed by the person she is today at just two years of age. Strong. Determined. Kind. Silly.
Tomorrow, I know she'll be stronger. She'll also likely refuse my help and try and tackle a problem all by herself. Whether she's successful or not isn't important. She'll surprise me with another act of kindness. She'll make me laugh so hard my cheeks will hurt. Her laughter will drown out all the other sounds of this world and I won't want it to end. She'll do all these things and more because that's part of growing up.
Twenty-four hours from now, I'll ask myself again, "How is it possible to love someone SO much?" But for right now, I just listen to her small breaths as she sleeps ever so peacefully. Right now, the world is just me and my girl. Right here, right now. And, I couldn't ask for more.