Typing one handed because she's asleep on my left arm. Snoring a little, definitely her father's child. I'm overwhelmed with the amount of unconditional love I feel for her, even in these small moments. It's six am, the Saturday after a very hard week and my baby is sleeping so comfortably in my arms. Tiny body twitching and grunting. I wonder if my parents ever felt like this about me, before things got bad? I have to hope so.
