The Buds

I love my husband. And I love the Dad he is for our daughter. He lets Amy do all kinds of things I would never dream of letting her do. Things I consider too dangerous, or un-refined, or messy. You know, fun things. Together they hunt and swat flies, have conversations made of gutteral and un-savory-sounding mouth-noises, squirt each other with bath toys, and at least once or twice a week both come home from the park covered in dirt or pebbles or burrs.


And I wouldn't want it any other way. Amy adores her Dad. She clings to his pant-leg in the morning to keep him from leaving for work. She cries when he goes anyway. And her whole world lights up when he finally comes back home & scoops her up so they can unload the dish drainer together, make me a cup of tea, or rock together on the porch swing.


As Eric likes to say... they are buds.



* pictures of Amy at 4, 3, and 2 months respectively