I am typing away late at night a few days ago, trying to catch up on email, when I hear Firefly crying upstairs. The moment my face appears over her crib she breaks into a grin, eyes squeezed shut in glee, her body wriggling back and forth with excitement. I give her a few pats, but she is completely awake and flashing me the "milk" sign. Game over.
I lift her from her crib as she waves her arms around with joy, her chubbilicous face beaming at me from under her nightcap. As much as I wish she were still asleep, I can't help but think about how much I enjoy her. How grateful I am to have this wee girl, this squirmy ball of wonderfulness, in my life. It is a contented moment, the kind I don't know any parent ever stops being amazed by. A prompt for something blog-worthy even.
I am nuzzling her cheek with a smile, thinking all these things, when she rears her tiny body up straight, looks me right in the eye and--with a satisfied smirk--lets out the loudest, strongest, rip-roaringest, frat-boy fart you ever did hear.