I sat on the floor of my first niece’s new nursery. Just looking. At the outfits lined in a row and the bows and the books and the baby lotion. The magic and the waiting. The expectation of the almost. And love grows and swells as the sister-in-law acts nonchalant, but I know she’ll soften somehow. And I wonder if I’m too soft. I love terribly too much. Too intensely. Adore. Hurt and ache and ruin with the depth and breadth and height of too much love.