My babies. I don't deserve them for even one second, but I know that I am never so much myself as when I am looking into one of those pairs of baby blue eyes, or covering those soft, round cheeks in kisses. I am lucky beyond words.
Mister Baggins once spit up an entire belly full of curdled milk on my arm while I waited in line at a paper supply store with nary a wipie to be found. (Rookie mistake.) Bug recently told me that of all the characters on Lion King, I most resemble Scar. (We both have brown hair, I guess?) And, you know what? I wouldn't change a moment or a word of it for all the gold in all the world.
The night before Mother's Day while I was at work, Daddy helped Bug craft a poster for me. Titled Mommy, You Are The Best... the poster was filled with hand-colored scribbles and genuine answers from Bug about all the things I am best at. I'm grateful for a man in my life who is such a thoughtful, hands-on sort of Daddy, the sort of Daddy who buys finger paints to stamp my poster with baby hands and feet, the sort of man who put Bug's little crayon-clutching fist in his own hand to write all her own answers down, and perhaps most of all, the sort of Daddy who understands that when Bug answers the aforementioned statement with Mommy, you are the best eater, that maybe that particular attribute would be best left off the Mother's Day poster, all indications of its accuracy notwithstanding.
Happy Mother's Day to every nurturing, gentle soul out there helping to fill this sometimes scary world my babies are living in with love. We're all in this together.