It started with the smallest giggle. That soft, sweet sound that would escape her lips every time she caught us holding hands. A simple gesture that, in our world, was nothing more than an everyday moment of affection. But to her, it was something magical. Over time, we began to notice the pattern. Every time her Daddy leaned over and kissed me on the forehead, she would break into a wide smile. If we embraced, she’d cover her mouth like she was watching the best part of a fairy tale. And when we’d kiss—just a gentle, casual one—her little shoulders would rise with joy, and she’d giggle like someone had whispered the silliest secret in her ear.
We call her our little hopeless romantic. Not because she knows what romance is in the way adults do, but because she feels it in the purest form. She senses love, absorbs it, mirrors it, and celebrates it. It fills up her tiny world with light, and she wants more of it. To her, love isn’t complicated or heavy. It’s gentle and happy and warm. It’s when Mommy leans her head on Daddy’s shoulder while sitting beside each other on the couch. It’s when Daddy wraps his arms around Mommy in the kitchen while doing something simple like reaching for a plate. It’s the comfort of routine, the joy of surprise, and the trust that love is always there, even when the lights go out.
She’s only a toddler, but her eyes say she understands something deep. Sometimes, when we see the sparkle in them during those small affectionate moments, we can’t help but feel she’s been here before. There’s an old soul in her, one that has watched love bloom in past lives. It might sound strange to some, but to us, it’s as clear as day. We often say my husband’s grandmother has returned through our daughter. That same joy, that same excitement she used to express whenever she saw us being affectionate—it’s now alive in our little girl. My husband’s grandmother used to be our biggest fan. She loved love. She’d gush over our photos, over stories of our dates, over every tiny proof that love was still alive. And now, our daughter does the same, but with even more sparkle, more laughter, more wonder.
Every night, we tuck her in together. It’s never just one of us. It’s always both. It’s a ritual, and it’s sacred. One of us might be brushing our teeth while the other is finishing a chore, but we make it a point to come together at her bedside. And when we do, we lean in and kiss her—together. One kiss from both of us, landing at the same time, as if she’s being wrapped in a cocoon made of love. Her smile in that moment is everything. She closes her eyes knowing she’s loved, knowing we’re close, knowing we’re choosing this moment for her, with her. It’s how she falls asleep happy. It’s how she knows love is safe.
There’s something beautifully affirming about watching a child rejoice in affection. Not in receiving it only—though that matters deeply—but in witnessing it between others. Children feel everything. They notice more than we think they do. They register the silences, the eye rolls, the distance, just as much as they absorb the laughter and the hand squeezes. So when we show each other love, it’s not just about us anymore. It’s about what we’re teaching. What we’re building. What we’re normalizing.
For her, love is a show, and she’s our proud little audience. But she’s also the student, learning that love doesn’t have to be big and dramatic to be beautiful. It can be soft. It can be patient. It can live in small glances and shared smiles and fingers brushing in passing. She watches and she learns. And she giggles.
Sometimes, she tries to imitate us. It’s adorable and almost poetic. She’ll grab her stuffed baby dino, hug it tight, and kiss it gently. And we watch, humbled, reminded that love isn’t taught through words alone. It’s lived.
The world will teach her enough about love later—what it can be, what it sometimes becomes, what it sometimes isn’t. But in our home, we get to build the foundation. We get to show her what love looks like when it’s respected. When it’s nourished. When it’s quiet and consistent and honest. We get to show her that kisses aren’t just for romance. They’re for reassurance. For comfort. For celebration. For no reason at all.
And maybe one day, when she’s older, she’ll look back and remember that every night ended with two kisses. That love didn’t shout, it whispered. That love wasn’t always exciting, but it was always there. She’ll remember the giggles, the hand-holding, the forehead pecks, the wrapping arms in the kitchen, the tickle fights that always ended in hugs. She’ll remember how love felt.
There’s a kind of magic in raising a romantic. Not in the cliché way, where she’s always daydreaming about fairy tales. But in the real way. The honest way. Where love is observed as something good and kind. It means she’ll grow up expecting love to feel like home. Not chaos. Not fear. Not doubt. She’ll look for steadiness. For laughter. For someone who smiles at her the way her parents smiled at each other on a random Tuesday afternoon.
Sometimes I wonder if our daughter understands just how much she gives us in return. Watching her delight in our affection makes us fall in love all over again. It grounds us. It softens our edges. It reminds us why we started. Why we continue. In a world that rushes and pulls and distracts, her joy pulls us back to center. She teaches us to slow down. To savor. To hold hands just a little longer.
We never planned for her to be this way. We didn’t read parenting books that said “kiss in front of your child so she becomes a hopeful romantic.” We were just being ourselves. But in doing so, in living love openly and kindly, we gave her a lens. And what a lens it is. Everything looks brighter through it.
We sometimes joke that she’s going to be the one who writes love letters in high school. The one who believes in soulmates. The one who cries at weddings and collects pressed flowers from her favorite books. But even if she doesn’t, even if life takes her somewhere more pragmatic, we know she’ll always have this piece of her heart that smiles at love. That celebrates it. That knows what it feels like when it’s good and soft and true.
And really, isn’t that what we all want for our children? Not just that they be loved, but that they recognize love when they see it? That they know what it feels like to be safe, to be adored, to be kissed goodnight not out of routine but out of intention?
We kiss her together because we want her last memory of the day to be warmth. We want her to close her eyes knowing she’s never alone in this world. That there are two people who love each other and love her, and that that love wraps around her like a lullaby. It might seem small. It might seem simple. But it’s everything.
So yes, our daughter is a hopeless romantic. And we’re hopelessly in love with who she is. Every giggle, every sigh of happiness, every hand-clap when we hug. She is our joy. Our gentle mirror. Our old soul with a new sparkle.
And in this little house, filled with tiny kisses and bedtime giggles, we have something rare. We have a child who loves love. And because of her, we love even deeper. Not just each other. But the life we’re building, the memories we’re making, the legacy we’re leaving behind.
A legacy of love, witnessed by the giggling eyes of a little girl who believes in every bit of it.
