It was very early on a quiet Sunday morning in Paris.
I was standing in line at an ATM. No one else in all of Paris seemed to be awake ~ except for a dad with a baby stroller in front of me.
It was a beautiful morning. Sunny, a little chilly. A brand new day. Perfect.
But I was curious about the child. So while the dad was punching numbers into the ATM and withdrawing his money, I peeked over the top of the stroller ~ and there, tucked under a blanket, was the cutest little baby doing the sweetest thing.
He was eating a chocolate croissant.
With a big happy smile, and even a little melted chocolate on its cheek.
And I knew, right there and then, in my next life I want to be born in Paris.
Raised on chocolate croissants.