Portrait of a sleeping baby

I remember trying to capture pictures of Charlie in the very beginning, ones we would proudly attach to emails sent to faraway family with notes about how big she was (huge!), how often she cried (never!), and when her next "well check" was (seemed like every damn day!). In the hospital, I even have the memory of Joe trying to capture a shot of her eyes just so that we could send Grandma and Grandpa Kopp in Nebraska proof that she did, in fact, have 'em.

But now she's a big 14-month-old who hardly sleeps. OK, that's not entirely true. She's actually a pretty good napper, BUT we don't bother trying to get pictures of her sleeping anymore.

Until this afternoon. 

For the first time in a long time, she fell asleep on the way home from Gramma Kate's. I opened the windows when we got home so that we could both savor the breeze blowing outside, and I settled in on the couch to get some work done. But then I looked at my baby (or toddler, if you want to really get into semantics) sleeping in the carrier that she's almost too tall for, and I grabbed the camera.

Her hands are just too perfect.

Her toes are just too kissable.

Her cheeks are just too soft.

Her lashes are just too long.

And these moments are just too fleeting.

But I could never love her too much.