Early this morning I was composing a post in my head about spit-up. This is not going to be that post. While it may have seemed interesting at the time that Margaret could spit up that many times in a row, the only person who is really likely to be interested already got the executive summary when I finally crawled back into bed and demanded a hug. It's not news that parenting is hard work that involves much cleaning up of bodily fluids. What doesn't get much attention in blogs, or even in general these days, is just how worth it all that hard work is. Maybe its because that feeling is so much harder to put into words, but that is what this post is going to try to convey instead.

It is a glorious grey day here. I know most people love sun, but I love overcast and rain. Today is a magical day from my point of view. One of my favorite simple pleasures in life is to sit snug in my house and watch the rain come down outside the window. I love watching the rain come down.

A little while ago Margaret was fussing. I went down the trouble shooting checklist. She was clean, she was fed, she was burped. I wrapped her up in another blanket and the problem was solved -- she hadn't been warm enough. I held her in my lap while she warmed up and calmed down. I automatically turned my chair so I could watch the rain come pouring down on the other side of the window. Margaret immediately looked out the window too, and went still. She watched the deluge outside, clearly fascinated. We watched the storm together until I realized she had turned into a relaxed, warm weight in my lap. Looking down at her as she slept I knew she was mine. She is ever so slowly becoming her own person, but she will always be my daughter and maybe she will always love watching the rain come down, just like me.