On one kind of love

We just had a nice long weekend. My parents came into town to visit. Needless to say, they are in love with Little, and she is in love with them. She has them wrapped around her pinky finger, and they enjoy every minute of it. It's great. It's beautiful. They make such sweet and happy memories. Then there are some times when all I can do is shake my head and laugh.

It was not me who let my child run around Kroger in her monster suit, exclaiming "growl! growl!" to every person she walked past.

It was not me who took her on a walk around the cul-de-sac in nothing but her pj shirt, diaper, and my sneakers.

I didn't tell her that her new big girl bed is for jumping or teach her that she can stand on it to turn on and off her lights (and encourage her to do it over and over and over again).

I don't devote over an hour to her meals, talking, singing, and playing with her while she eats.

But I'm sure glad there was someone who did do all those things with her. She is one lucky girl.

And so am I. Lucky and blessed to have such wonderful parents whose visits are always too short.