Motherhood has made me so emotional. I know that's true for many people. Talking about my kids, or even thinking about them, often makes me tear up. I'll probably weep while writing this post. Maybe.
I took the girls to a nearby park the other day. I had Evie in the Baby Bjorn and we followed Olivia around as she navigated the less frequented big-kid side of the park. She decided to take on climbing ropes. As a somewhat cautious kid, any amount of climbing up the ropes is a feat for her. She made it to the second rope and felt maxed out; she looked at me for approval. At that moment, a girl a few years older than her nimbly scrambled up to the top rope to the right of Olivia. She proudly looked down at Olivia and gloated in a [incredibly bratty] sing-song voice, "Look how high I am! You can't touch me!" hoping, I'm sure, to get a reaction from Olivia.
My sweet Pie, totally adorable and unbratty smiled and said back to her, "You're doing great!"
Then she looked again at me. "Mom, am I doing great?"
My heart could have burst. Those are the kinds of things that make me go in to her room 20 minutes after putting her to bed, just to snuggle her and tell her I love her one more time.