Last night was the first time I think I've ever spent a full hour with you free of worry. It was just the two of us. You laid on my chest, passed out in comfort. I tilted my head to put my cheek on your hair. We took breathes together. I was happy in the simplest sort of way, and I had the distinct impression that you were, too.
Some people measure their lives by how many big things they have achieved or exciting places they've gone. They desperately search for that next brief moment of great volume that will drum out the rest of those yawning stretches that occupy the rest of their lives. But me? I've always measured my life quite differently. I measure it instead in quiet, happy moments. Like a mild breeze on a cool autumn day. A smile or a kiss shared with your mother. A subtle recognition of some intricacy of our world, newly discovered, but always there. A simple moment with my daughter.
I don't want our lives together to be defined by a few, resounding things. I want them to be defined by an uncountable number of wonderful, tiny ones. So many and thorough that they all blend together, like threads in a tapestry. I promise that this moment we've shared together will be one of millions.