In mid-April 25 years ago when I was hugely pregnant with this child I worried that I wouldn't have time to love her as much as I loved my first baby, who was then 2 years old. And I worried that maybe I wouldn't have enough time to love him as much as I would love the new baby. None of that came to pass, of course.
She's home from LA for a much-too-brief visit. A little work, a little pleasure. Oliver is basking in the extra attention.
Love her to death. (And she doesn't ride a motorcycle either. As far as I know.)