When Laney was 2, she sat on my lap in a yellow glider in a lavender room and I read her stories and sang her songs. I'd put my nose on the top of her head and nothing has ever smelled that good since.
When Laney was 6, I found her standing in the kitchen, weeping over some childhood tragedy. I picked her up and she wrapped her legs around my waist and nestled her head in my neck and cried until she felt better.
When Laney was 9, she went to a new school and I sat in my car as she walked into the playground, among a hundred kids she didn't know. I sat in the car and watched and cried and hoped so hard that someone would be her friend (someone was).
When Laney was 12, we drove home from school and she checked her phone to see what had happened in the virtual world that day. She said, more to herself than to me, "Someone just tried to trade me a stupid Pokemon for one of my good Pokemons." I didn't understand what that meant, but was feeling sort of silly, so I said, "I hope you told them they could fuck right off." And then we laughed and laughed.
Sometimes I wish Laney could still fit in my lap and that I could hug her woes and worries away. But sometimes I'm glad that she's a big kid who laughs and laughs at a strategically-deployed f-bomb. And both of those sometimes seem to be happening at the same time all the time.
Sorry that was so mushy. I'm having some feels tonight. Here's an Archer gif. When Laney is 16 (maybe 17) maybe we can enjoy Archer together.