miss emma.

i think the reality that i'm getting married in twenty-five days is starting to hit me because i'm getting awfully sentimental in the most stereotypical ways. tonight i was reminded of the stories my dad would tell me and aenon before we went to sleep when we were little girls. looking back now, i see how truly a creative genius my dad is and how he could craft incredible, dynamic fairytales off the top of his head. he had this one character named bishop tortuga who frequented his stories. i can't remember any specific storyline really, but he was a tortoise who lived in a miniature house off of the i-15.
before we fell asleep, my dad would "trace my face", by brushing the lines of my face with his finger. he would tell me to lie very still so he could capture all of my features. he would sing scottish folk songs that his mother used to sing to him, while i slowly drifted off to sleep. more than the stories, more than the words to the songs, i remember the way he made me feel; like i was the most important, exquisite, priceless creature he could imagine.
tonight before david left, he touched my face and brushed my hair back and made me feel like i was a little girl again, safe and sound, tucked in to bed. and all i could think about is how grateful i am for these great men in my life who love me so much and take care of me so well. and then i thought about how infinitely blessed i am to have my david, and how i know that he will make our daughter feel just like my dad made me feel: priceless. and nothing makes my heart happier.