Mushy Daughters

My daughters are sentimental and mushy ... and I'm glad! They seem see me through rose-colored glasses. I'm glad they see me in a good way, but I am no where near the woman they think I am. I wish I were, but I'm not. Anyway, I recently got texts from them both that make me smile every time I look at them.

From Thing 1:

The poem reads:

When my mother was pregnant with her second child, I was four. I pointed at her swollen belly, confused at how my mother had gotten so big in such little time. My father scooped me in his tree trunk arms and said the closest thing to God on this earth is a woman's body. It's where life comes from. And to have a grown man tell me something so powerful at such a young age changed me to see the entire universe rested at my mother's feet.

From Thing 2: