Redefining Perfect

Our family seemed perfect. No white picket fence, and only one child. One who isn't perfect by most standards, but who is perfect to many, especially those who matter. So our family may not have been perfectly perfect, by standard definitions anyway, but perfect to us nonetheless.

Celia's been spending time with her grandparents the past few days, and although she came to visit us in the hospital, and although we very much appreciate this time to bond with Tucker while Celia is well-cared for elsewhere, we've missed her. We've missed the way an occasional smile breaks across her face like the sunrise sets the clouds on fire. The way her yawns, possibly as engaging as the words of an average two-year old, can make us stop whatever we're doing, just to watch and listen. She is perfect.

And Tucker is perfect in his own ways... Right now it's the way he folds up into himself, curling his limbs like a fiddle head fern. And, equally as perfect in the way he stretches out, elongating his body, arching his back, opening his palms, inviting us in.

Our family still seems perfect. It's different now, bigger, and leaning more heavily toward the male end (when you count Colby, and we have to, because he's part of the family and all).
Lots of things have been redefined in our lives lately. But we'll take advantage of these working definitions - of family, of perfection - and tweak them as we go.

JEB