It is almost 11pm. I just rocked my daughter to sleep. I’m hoping that she manages to stay that way long enough for me to write this post. I can hear her start to hiccup, and that is usually a sign that she is about to wake up.

Everyday she changes and grows. My mom picked her up at lunchtime so that my wife and I could both eat a meal together and then clean (and of course because my mom wants to hold her second grand baby.) When they joined us for dinner, my baby had her baby cheeks.

It is now after 11. I got called over to do some rocking. She fell asleep on my chest, so now I’m writing on my phone. I can’t put her down. She might wake up.

And because holding this 7lbs bundle makes me feel like all is right in the world.

Seeing how fast she changes reminds me that I need to cherish her everyday, because everyday is precious.

The cliche is true. My son is almost four, but it seems all too recent when he was this little. Now he is delighting us at the dinner table with tales of his daycare’s trip to a new park.

As I wrote this her breathing has settled into its sleep rhythm. Likely I can put her to bed without her waking up.

But instead I think I’ll sit her a bit longer and just enjoy the weight of my infant in my arms.

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