I'm sitting on my couch and listening to the wind rush against the doors and windows of my house. I can't help eying the side door warily...as if the wind might reach out, turn the doorknob, and burst into my living room uninvited.
Stretched out beside me is a three month old in festive pumpkin pjs. The candy corn on her outfit glows in the dark. How perfect is that? She is currently snoozing away with her legs pulled up in a little frog position. Her hands are balled into fists, and her arms are carelessly thrown above her head. She's the picture of contentment. I sometimes think that there is nothing better in the world than watching a baby sleep.
I feel like I can never hold her close enough or long enough.
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