Today I put my Erin down for a nap. And I napped too.
We first read "That's Not My Prince" and then I tickled her face, an act passed down from my Nana, we call "chicky." It's a sleep inducement.
It was snowing--fat flakes fell right above our window. We cuddled under a frog-faced fleece and her little quilt she calls "Bumpy."
We had garlic noodles for lunch, and hot chocolate chip cookies and we put together wooden puzzles about pets and the ABCs until the clock struck one. Quiet Time.
The house was clean, the kitchen floor was wiped, the pillows on the couch were fluffed, the spilled bowl of goldfish crackers was finger-raked from the wild carpet.
And just before I fell asleep to the sound of my baby breathing heavy, rosy cheeked, drool spilling out from her sweet, pursed mouth wetting her turquoise pillow, I wondered how this became my life.
And how on earth (and under heaven) could it get any better?