They Don’t Love You Like I Love You
Most days, when I’m not doing laundry, changing diapers, or trying to squeeze in a shower, I just lie next to you in our comfy bed while you sleep. I watch your chest rise and fall, rise and fall, rise and fall. Still breathing. You furrow your brows, stretch out a wrinkled arm, then smile and relax. I wonder what kind of dreams such a new life can have. Dreams of heaven maybe. I can’t describe what your existence has done to us, but feels a bit like every dream we never knew we had came true. All the cheesy cliches about the joys of parenthood barely scratch the surface. So for as long as your little chest continues to rise and fall, we’ll continue to read books on how not to screw up this parenting thing, sing songs about poopies to pacify you during diaper changes, and generally act the fool to keep your smiles coming. Love you, H.
Images by Gina Meola.