in the truest of ways.

your papa made this weekend one for mama. a massage (the note was tucked in my stocking on christmas morning), a haircut, a chocolate milkshake when it was laughably cold out but it sounded like just the thing. he assembled your stroller and he made french toast and he made a pot of soup and he made space for time — time for me to write (to you, for me, about it all), time for me to walk (anywhere and nowhere in particular), time for me to gather (necessaries for our hospital bag, pretties to wear in our earliest days together). together we changed our bed linens and chose a bouquet of roses to scatter on our nightstand and about rooms.

and i thought of how his love will ripple through me, within you, across your childhood, and into eternity, for this is a man who knows what it is to love marrow deep and entirely, through hours and days, over and over and over again, until a lifetime has gone by.