A year ago, Love meant something very different for me. We all know that there are varying degrees of love - for your husband, best friend, your parents, siblings, cousins, your children. Being a mother, I’ve realized that it is easy to fall prey to cliches because there is absolute truth in them. Like this one: I never knew a deeper form of love until I met my daughter. Yes it is unconditional. Yes it is the kind that will make you move mountains (there goes another one). But how can anyone not fall in love with a child that smiles with utmost brightness to greet you in the morning. She is the face of joy and the breath of bliss.
Yesterday when I came home, Hubby had red heart balloons for our LoveyLove and red roses on the table for me. The house smelled incredibly good when we walked in because he cooked and prepared an exceptional meal for the both of us (well, I suppose it’s for the three of us since it’ll end up in my breast milk anyway): Fillet Mignon with Asparagus spears wrapped in cream cheese and prosciutto and a side serving of herb roasted potatoes. Sheer Joy. Dessert was leftover coffee jello I made a week ago and a scoop of Vanilla Bean Ice Cream. Love is savory and sweet and is in the simplest of gestures that make for huge family memories.
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