Yes.

I know we were once this cute. We all were, even if we grew up not-so-cute. Kids are just meant to be cute so we'll love them and protect them and take it when they give us the gears. And I believe their cuteness is also what makes us get down on our knees and explain why we lost our shit when they gave us the gears. Their cuteness makes us apologize and examine ourselves. Their cuteness makes us want to be good, better, best. Or at least better than we knew we were capable of being.


My kids' cuteness makes me laugh, cry and strive to be real. My kids' cuteness makes me grow. ...even when (or especially when) I'm fairly sure I can't.

This may not be true for you. I didn't even have the thoughts formulated properly five minutes ago; I just sat down and wrote them, the same way I'm writing this. But I've known one thing for certain since I held Sonja (and then Haven two years later) for the first time: a child is the most powerful thing I've ever encountered. 

My kids can reduce me to tears of frustration by simply holding their ground. They can give me goosebumps by an observation so simple it is almost otherworldly. I am at once powerless and empowered in that trusting gaze. And I have never known an embrace more pure.

I hope I can teach my kids half as much as I learn from them. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to even have the opportunity.  


Yes, I will get impatient when Haven spends what-feels-like-forever collecting rocks when we're supposed to be walking the dog. Yes, I will struggle to understand why Sonja breaks down into tears over the tiniest things when she could simply express her feelings with her (impressive) vocabulary. Yes, I will agonize over all the times I let my temper take control of a situation that calls for calm reason. Yes, yes, yes; perfect examples of times I'm sure I can't grow. 


Perfect opportunities; I'm always in the right place at the right time, even if I don't realize it.


Yes.