Loving the Littlest
I am often caught off guard by how quickly a joyful moment in motherhood can turn bittersweet.
This past weekend, as I rushed around in typical Saturday morning fashion to accomplish the never-ending list of household tasks, I paused at the bedroom door of my baby girl. Fourteen-month-old Tessa sat in the middle of the floor banging together two plastic balls. She looked like a pudgy angel, laughing and babbling and blissfully immune from any obligations.
The scene stopped me in my tracks—forget running from the bed piled high with clean laundry to the dressers in each bedroom to the bathroom in need of a fresh hand towel to the closet and back to the bed of laundry again.
On March 29, 2011
