Well, it's not really home. I mean, I didn't grow up in that house. But family lives there now, which makes it home. And even though it's not the same couch I grew up resting on, it's still the kind of couch that takes me captive, physically and mentally, reminding me how cozy it is to be back in my childhood.
We celebrated Christmas with Dad and Sandy this weekend. And their couch took Celia captive, too. She napped there, and in Aunt Stephanie's arms, and in the car on the way home. And then last night she wanted nothing to do with bedtime. She was the epitome of a spoiled grandchild, given back to her parents to "deal with." And although it was late (we're talking midnight) she was in a super mood, and we enjoyed her energy. It crossed our minds that perhaps someone slipped Celia one of Stephanie's frosted Easter-like cookies?
Andy and I are always grateful for a happy baby, no matter the hour, and we're very lucky to have so many homes to return to.