pretty

There's just something about little boys and their mommas.

This morning Harvey came into my room as I was waking up, he leans in close to my face and says, "Good morning! You look pretty!"

I strolled over to the bathroom and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair hasn't been washed in 3 days, pillow wrinkles on my cheek, and yesterday's sweatpants and baggy t-shirt. And yet, "You look pretty!"

I often pray for his future wife.

That she would understand the tenderness in his heart and not mistake it for weakness. That she would be strong and wise yet still willing to lean on him. That she would always encourage him to be better without tearing him down. That she smiles when he looks at her and never tires of being told she's beautiful, because I have no doubts that he'll tell her as often as she'll accept it.

And then I stop thinking about it, because the idea of my baby boy being a husband is one of the few things in the world that can make me cry.

That, and The Time Traveler's Wife.