And somehow sweeter with each passing day.
Constant smiles. And happy eyes. Growing wider whenever one of your brothers come near. You listen, enchanted as they sing to you their school house songs, hold you propped on pillows piled upon my bed, kiss the top of your head and squeeze you tight in frequent bouts throughout the day. Their well intended strongholds that come in spite of my incessant pleads and warnings to be gentle. They love you fiercely. Tenderly. Like a house full of older brothers should. Staking claim as your valiant protectors, though none of them were there to intervene when you rolled off the couch that chaotic monday morning, and landed flat onto those hard wood floors.
Sometimes the intensity of certain brothers though can be too much. In the midst of a tantrum, where my voice might rise to meet the moment, your bottom lip curls into the most heartbreaking pout I've ever known. As sad as it makes me, it's one thing I hope I never forget. My fourth born baby, so incredibly affected by the ways of this house. Happy when we are happy. Sad when we are not.
Teaching us things daily. How to slow down, to read books in bed, and nap in the afternoon. To find joy again in the simplest things, and love in the quietest of ways.
A blessing. From the moment you wake till the hour in your cradle. And all the many unmarked moments in between.