In last month or two, during a phase when my lap is always full, my neck skin is constantly fondled, and “I yuv you a bushel and a peck” is whispered repeatedly into my ear throughout the day, I am exceedingly aware that
I have never before–and will never again–be loved as
sweetly
deeply
profoundly
devotedly
innocently
and
all-encompassingly
as I am by my four-year-old Wee Niblet.
It rather takes my breath away.
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