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Mornings are so sweet.
Andy and Annika leave in a flurry for school and work, while Mayzie and I get to cuddle on the couch. She fits so perfectly into the nook under my shoulder all curled up into a ball. She refuses to get dressed, and I don't force it. That's an argument for people with places to be, and we have none right now.
That moment when playful goofy giggles turn into real belly laughs, that is parenting perfection. That is scrumptious vitamin filled goodness for my soul. In that moment I am happy. In that moment I am blissfully beautifully bravely happy to be your mother.
Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, Mayzie whispers to me, "Mama, you're perfect." I treasure this moment with every fiber of my being, and try to remember the way that she looks at me, instead of how I look at myself. And then I want to change how I look at myself, so I don't teach her to look at herself in the same ueber-critical light. I'm perfect to her right now, and I desperately want to be deserving of her praise in my own mind.
