“Today, We Just Existed Together”

No milestones today.

No tantrums, either.

Just cereal on the floor,

sticky fingers,

a puzzle missing one piece

but still worth finishing.

We didn’t learn anything new—

unless you count

that worms wiggle when you whisper,

or that socks

are entirely optional

after 10 a.m.

We watched the light

crawl across the rug

like a slow animal,

and you said,

“Look! The sun is walking.”

And I believed you.

There were no perfect parenting moments—

just small ones:

You stacking blocks like skyscrapers

Me sipping cold coffee

The dog barking at nothing

You barking back

We laughed harder than we should have.

At nap time,

you asked me not to leave.

So I didn’t.

I lay beside you,

watching your chest rise

like waves I never want to leave.

These are the days

that don’t get documented.

Not Instagram-worthy.

Not “productive.”

Just real.

Just us.

Just crumbs on the counter,

stories in the same three voices,

blanket forts built

like kingdoms.

If someone asked what we did today,

I’d say:

We existed.

Together.

Fully.

Without agenda.

Without rush.

And honestly—

that feels holy.