three things

There is nothing better than belly laughs from a chubby nine-month old baby, his whole face crinkling with the force of his smiles despite the IV in his head and boards keeping both his elbows stiff so he can't pull out that IV, his mouth wide open in a toothless, gummy grin every time you come near.

Nothing better than a little toddler, the stumps of his burned fingers covered in a bandage turning brown from too much play, who shrieks with excitement when he sees you across the room, pushing adults out of his way as he runs over, turns around and drops into your lap as you sit in the floor to welcome him.

Nothing better than a seven-year old girl, a paper crown on her head declaring her allegiance to the Netherlands in the World Cup final, who leans into your side and looks up into your eyes to show you that the swelling in her tongue is almost small enough that she can close her mouth for the first time in years. That's she's not scared anymore, her arms wound tight around your neck to prove it.

And when all three of those things happen within three minutes of each other?

I hope you'll forgive me for missing the first half of the game. I didn't want to cry in front of everyone, even if they are tears of pure joy.