Sometimes I look at my cute -as-a-button one-year-old niece and wish with all my might that I was her. That looking outside was able to make me giddy with excitement and opening my mouth at inopportune moments to allow half chewed food out was actually acceptable. I wish that I couldn’t stand to sit for more then a few seconds because there was just too much to explore.

And then there are times that my heart physically hurts for her. For all the hard times she has yet to endure and all the sadness she doesn’t even know exists yet. I want to protect her from all those people that will cut her down, make her cry, and tell her she is less then perfect. I want her to grow and learn but keep her brazen toddler confidence firmly in tact.

I used to think that kids would come to me as a sort of after thought on my journey through all the life experiences society tells me I’m suppose to have. I knew I wanted them but I didn’t know I really needed them. I know now that I need them to remind me to slow down, smile, and pay attention to all those little extras we take for granted. To scoop up bugs, have lemonade stands, and play make believe whenever possible.