My daughter, my husband, and waking up in the morning with both of them. Baby Baby growing inside me. Watching ML put on records and either listen and read along, if it’s something like Dumbo, or sing and dance along, if it’s Yankee Doodle or I’m a Little Teapot. Reading to her at various times of the day – small books with simple stories, nursery rhymes she knows better than I do, big books like Moomin, during which she’s beginning to ask so many questions that the story is sometimes buried beneath the mountain of where’s and who’s. Watching her look at a book by herself – the intensity of her looking, as if the words and pictures could tell the stories to her without an intermediary. How friendly she is to people and animals alike. My family, my dear and wonderful family. My friends spread across the globe. Moms’ group, which helps to save my sanity. Reading. Listening to her retell stories or sing or make up songs. Watching her dance when there is music, no matter where we are. The time after ML has gone to sleep, when I’m overwhelmed by the sweetness of my sleeping child and when Matthew and I can have a linear conversation or just flop on the couch.

Mommy and Daddy,  Maria and Pepper. Nene and Poppa, ZeeZee and Pop. Aunties and uncles. Fruit snacks and cheeseburgers. Playing in the water, including the ocean, the pool, the tub, the shower, or puddles, big and small. My record player. Reading books. Being read to. Being held. Animals. Watching WordWorld or Pinky Dinky Doo or another show. Playing with Daddy’s iPad. Sweeping. Playing with Play Doh. Moms’ group, which is when I get to see my friends. My friends. Playing outside. Itsy Bitsy Yoga. WND. Dancing. When Daddy comes home from work and hugs me. Having Mommy and Daddy in bed with me in case I get sad or just need a snuggle or a song at night.

And still, and still, Mama’s mole.