Loves helping with dishes. Loves salad. Loves to "shake the dressing." Loves listening to the song "Pumped up Kicks" way too much. Loves snuggies.
He sat quietly in the library today with hands folded and listened to all of the stories. A year ago, I would leave the library near tears, near cursing as he would sprint out of the children's room, unlocking the safety gate. I would waddle after him, unable to catch up or lift him. My life felt hard and small.
He still lets me rock him. This is not a small thing. During those months that I couldn't hold him I felt like I was missing it. Like he wouldn't be a baby by the time life felt normal again. But at 3, he is a treasure. And I feel like those months destroyed by locusts and uncomfortable pregnancy have been given back to me.