She cupped my cheeks in her chubby hands and whispered,
"Momma, you da apple of my eye. I love you."
She is two. Really.
My baby. My "Isaac." My "Joseph."
Two recent posts on Motherhood had me, in turns, busting a gut, and then feeling (somewhat) graciously reprimanded. What do you think?
Is motherhood just getting through the Chronos, in hopes of the Kairos?
Or is it to be cherished every minute, of every day. No matter what?
Or is the magic of motherhood, maybe, some of each? Or, even, both at the same time?