I started reading to you a couple of days after we came home from the hospital. The first book I picked up was this:
In case we lose our copy (or someone rips it apart *ahem*), it's a story about a baby bunny who tells his mother that he's going to run away, become a circus performer, become a crocus in a hidden garden, become a sailboat. The mother bunny says that she will become a tightrope walker, a gardener, the wind - whatever it takes to find her baby bunny.
With the two of you finally with me, it seemed like a big, fat metaphor. For three years I worked so desperately to find you. Just like the baby bunny, it seemed you had finally decided to say, “Shucks, I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.”
I'm so glad you decided to be my bunnies.