How Much Love The World Can Hold

A year and a half ago from right about now, in a labor and delivery room thirty minutes to the north of us, there was a flurry of sudden activity. Macbooks were being carelessly thrown out of the way and into corners, furniture was being moved quickly, healthcare professionals were running around my room like chickens with their heads cut off, medical instruments were being open from their crisp and sterile habitats and placed on a tray. I had progressed nine centimeters in, oh, about thirty minutes... with no epidural. (Ladies and Gentlemen, there are so many good reasons as to why things usually don't happen this quickly. In a word: Ouch.) (Now can you kind of understand why I haven't finished Sookie's birth story yet? Haha.)

Little Miss was on her way. Rory was sending my mother a text message that said simply: "Come now."

Go ahead 

push your luck

find out how much love the world can hold

{dar williams; after all}

It brings me insanely potent peace to reminisce like this. There is such power in knowing exactly what was happening in specific pockets of time in rewinding this story of ours.

Today she laughs at a potato bug on the front porch and points at it for me to focus my attention; mom this is  the coolest thing ever. She gets tired. In preparation for nap time, I sing this song to her (a favorite since she was three days old) and leave a trail of kisses on the arch from her nose to her precious ear.
And now, she is sleeping soundly with her pink and purple unicorn pillow pet, her scout puppy that plays lullabies, and her cabbage patch doll that smells like a real baby; clean and soft. I am basking in this beautiful summer rain, telepathically sending happy birthday wishes to Adam Duritz (because if I could communicate with anyone telepathically, it would most certainly be him, yes?), taking my synthroid with Diet coke, contemplating leftover pizza for lunch, and reading Kelle Hampton's latest blog post.

*******

I wrote this all at about 12:50 this afternoon; it is now nearly midnight and I am only just finishing. Why, you ask? Well, my sweet, angelic, miracle child decided to celebrate her 18 month birthday by finger painting everything in her crib

...with her own feces.

Good times!

What can you do but laugh?
I laughed. Started running bath water. And a load of laundry.

but momma

poop is FUNNY!

how could i

be mad at this face?

Hope your Monday was full of gratitude and magic!