avablog

Emmett likes to belly up to the counter at the island in the kitchen and watch me make scrambled eggs. Last week, I was going along with my scrambling one morning when I went to pour the eggs into the frying pan and happened looked up at Emmett, who was smiling the biggest, most beautiful smile. It was as if I was pulling bunnies and cookies out of a magic hat. It felt good. Not let’s-have-another-baby-so-we-can-have-this-feeling-all-over-again good, but still really, really good. And I suppose all that much better because I know how fleeting that adoration is. Before long, I’ll just be another “dumbhead” who won’t let Emmett go outside to play five minutes before dinner is ready.