On a snowy Saturday

you don’t have to change from your pajamas.
You can stuff your belly with brownies and brie cheese
and it feels good
because you have nowhere else to be.
You can linger over your mug of cocoa,
from your perch on the nursery floor,
and laugh with your full heart
and full belly,
at the giggling, squealing little pink person before you.
You kiss her sweet sweet-potato-covered face
and she laughs and dances.
Over and over
and over
as the snow falls
silently.
You don’t mind at all.
You are warm.
You can measure inches of snow
and count the quiet kisses
that the baby gives to the dog
and the dog gives to the baby,
in return,
and pile blankets on the floor
to sit upon
and watch
all of this beauty
in wonder.

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