Dude, that's heavy.

Forgive me for waxing a bit philosophical here, but...

Those of you who have children may notice that some mornings you go in to pick up your child and they just feel heavier. Like they've had a growth spurt overnight.

Tonight, I was cuddling with Ella and she asked me to stay with her until she fell asleep. As I held her close and her breathing became deeper and slower, I began to think of how my mother would wait with me until I fell asleep on those many nights that I was too scared to go to sleep on my own. I remember them well because they lasted well into my teenage years. And tonight, I thought of all the things the world has going on - of all the mothers who lose their children to violent crime and war and addiction and depression - and how I need to be for this little girl everything that my mother was for me. And all of the sudden the weight of that responsibility felt a little bit heavier.

Not that I don't think of those things often, but I think occasionally the gravity of this responsibility just reasserts itself in such a profound way that you can't help but feel overwhelmed and underqualified. When that little girl is holding onto your arm with both of her arms and your presence is the only thing that helps her feel safe and relaxed enough to give in to sleep. I represent safety to her. And I need to not just represent it, I need to be it and ensure it for her as best as I can. It's a big deal.