She is sleeping. Fast asleep on the sofa still in her rubber boots. I can hear her breathing across the room.
She is sleeping and today she is five.
There aren’t enough words to describe her. There isn’t enough time to tell you about her smile, or how many things she can tell me with just her eyes. I can’t tell you enough stories of her mischief to make you understand the light she brings into a room.
She’s poetry. Accidental art. Double rainbows across the sky.
I will never be able to tell her I love her enough times. Or protect her from all the spiders, or thunderstorms, or heartbreak time will bring her. I don’t know the answers to all her questions already, and she is still so very brand new. Continue reading this post »