When I first met you, you were a skinny 16-year-old with dark hair, dimples, blue eyes, stupid oversized political t-shirts, and a penchant for sarcasm. I loved you then.

Now, 15 years later, as I sit here with our daughter‘s downy head tucked under my neck, listening to her drink her bottle as you stand at the sink and do the dishes, probably not even realizing that you are humming the Moana soundtrack under your breath, I’ve never loved you more.