As we walked around Home Depot looking for the perfect lights for the house, I carried the baby in my arms. She was knocked out and in REM sleep because she allowed me to cradle her. A semi-conscious Layla would protest that with all her sleepy might. As I cradled her, I looked into her dirty face that she assured me she had washed. Maybe she did, a quarter of her forehead looked clean.
Cradling her, I thought about the baby of yesteryear whom I cradled. The one who didn't have scratches from fingernails that Mommy had let grown too long. The one who didn't have bangs that looked in need of cutting or who didn't have bangs or much hair at all. The one who wasn't rocking her thirteenth pair of earring or who in fact didn't have her ears pierced at all. The one who didn't have scratches and scrapes on her legs from running, jumping, and getting into places or things she shouldn't be or who couldn't even walk at all. The one who didn't sleep with her mouth slightly open so her upper two teeth can be seen or who didn't even have any teeth at all.
As I rocked my sleeping baby in my arms, I thought about the baby I said, "I love you" to in Hanoi and realized that love paled in comparison to the love I feel now to this baby and that this love I feel in this moment will pale in comparison to the love I will feel a year from now.
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