Last night I braided Nora’s hair for the first time. And not just any braid. A French braid. People without toddlers, this is like screaming “wanna go outside!” in an annoying high-pitched voice and then trying to clasp a leash on a Golden Retriever’s collar.
But we did it. Sometimes going a little bat shit crazy is what it takes to get a whole lot of preciousness out of your child. Because now she can’t stop looking in the mirror and smiling.
And neither can I.