There are moments when I am more than full.

One little, tiny moment. My five-year-old comes bursting into the room, sobbing. She jumps on the bed, where I am reading, nestling in as close as she can get.

She was watching a movie with her sisters. At the beginning of the movie, the mommy had given the boy up for adoption. The mommy was missed the entire movie.

It was too much for this little one. Too, too much to bear.

Tears. Comfort. Reassurance. Kisses. Cuddling. Sleep.

For one of these little, tiny moments I would endure nearly anything.

I am full.

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