The babies are not well. Little Miss Apple, especially, shadowed me all day when not taking up residence on the sofa. Is it completely crazy and horrible of me to say that I enjoy when my children are sick? Not that I don't want lifelong health for them, and of course I know that they're miserable and that makes me sad, but as the babies grow so big and independent and collaborative with each other, my role has become more of a facilitator, and less of an all-encompassing EVERYTHING to them. And as it should be. But, oh, just every once in a blue moon it is so SWEET to just lie on the sofa, hold my dear, sweet, huge child, or children, and be still. To breathe them in, snuggle them close, and just relish the moment.... It amazes me how unconditionally I can love them, so effortlessly, but what surprises me tenfold is their unconditional love of me. The pic is Rye's (dictated) Valentine love letter to me, "I love Mama because...". He loves the gooey stuff, hugging and kissing, (he always has, the lovebug), and making stuff together, but get this-- he even loves it when I'm brushing his hair and it hurts him. That's unconditional love.