I always think my kids are adorable. Pretty. Lovely. (Well, mostly.) Charming.
But sometimes I find myself almost struggling to breathe for a moment. My breath is literally taken away. I can't stand it. My heart hurts, and I realize it's because I'm witnessing a beauty I don't fully understand and can't live without. It's a good kind of hurt. One I find myself looking for in those hard or banal moments of mothering. Thankfully, they abound these days, and I am awed and humbled that I am witness to such effortless and innate beauty.
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