Small things are lovable.
there is nothing he cannot grow.
herbs unfurl in the foyer
the living room ficus lives without light,
seeds sprout in the treads of his shoes. 56 more words
Gender is messy, language is messy, but my son is abso-freaking-loutely beautiful.
Quiet moments with my son are a rarity; at two years old, he’s reveling in the developing mastery of mobility, and spends hours running, climbing, spinning, and generally wearing me out. 1,382 more words