Pushing you in a cart around the store, your little laugh carried for several aisles.
The woman and her twin 13 year-old daughters came around the corner, looking for the source of the happiness, just as I took you out of the cart.
I held you out where she could see you better, and you could see her. And you laughed and smiled.
The woman said she loved babies and she’d love another one, (I didn’t notice how her daughters reacted to what their mom was saying) but at 57 she was too old, she said. She’s only 10 years older than daddy. She enjoyed watching you smile and laugh, and then we said goodbye, and moved on.
I mentioned to mommy how much strangers enjoy seeing you, and mommy said, “I thought you knew her, from the way you were talking to her.”
Daddy often talks to strangers. And, so do you. You laugh and smile your toothless smile and engage nearly everyone you encounter.
Mommy brought her parents and you to daddy’s work for mommy’s birthday. As I carried you out of the restaurant, I stopped at a table of ladies so they could see you. You had smiled at them, and them at you, and they needed to tell daddy how precious you are, and how wonderful your smile is.
That same scene unfolds again and again . . . You make eye contact and engage strangers and then you smile and laugh.
Carrying you on my shoulders through a street festival last weekend, people stopped us more times than I could count to tell us how pretty and happy and engaging you are.
You are lovely, and deeply loved.