My favorite opening scene of any movie has to be “Love, Actually.”

Watching the arrivals gate at Heathrow with all the people embracing…as Hugh Grant says: “If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that love actually is all around.”

It’s hard to see sometimes. Hugh’s right. You have to look for it.

As awful as I have found a lot of social media to be, particularly the last four years, I also have found it to be the mother lode of love. For me, in a word, it’s this: babies.

When my kids were younger, the oversharing of mothering details would have annoyed me. It was my own failing. I was stuck deep in my own proverbial child-rearing forest. I had no brain capacity left to see the other trees much less learn about all the other little saplings. I would have categorized the (by my definition) over sharer as someone who thinks she was the first person to have a baby and make a mental note to never ask her about her weekend. For fear she might tell me.

But then something happened. Seemingly overnight. My babies grew up. And moved out. I can no longer sit in wonder watching them evolve and grow day to day. I know this is a good thing. The baby birds are supposed to leave the nest. But why does no one talk about what the mama bird is supposed to do then? With an empty nest and newfound free time?

I have found that the time, interest and brain capacity that I didn’t have for over sharers before is suddenly abundant. And I crave seeing and hearing about other people’s delights in their children.

So I stalk other people’s babies.

Thanks to social media (and the fact that I am fortunate to have friends with young babies) I devour every second of baby sharing. I’m there for all it. First smiles. Tummy time. Drooly-faced new teeth. Frankenstein-like first steps. Gurgles. Halloween costumes. Bows on girl baby heads that are bigger than actual girl baby heads.

All of these images and videos transport me back to when my own kids were little. When Isabella would sing in her sweet 2-year-old voice “You’ll Be in My Heart” from Tarzan. Or when Olivia emerged on the scene, the first baby I ever saw who had visible cheekbones and huge eyes taking up half her face. Or when Sophia joined our all-girl band and my adoring mother-in-law would never let her feet touch the ground.

All of the Facekbook posts and Insta stories take me back and I CANNOT GET ENOUGH.

I love seeing the babies’ progressions. I’ll think to myself, “oh look, he’s moved on to table food” or “oh my gosh, she has her first braid!” This is usually followed by a thought to myself of “what is WRONG with me?”

And then, I read the caption on one of my friend’s pictures. It said: “I love this tiny human so much I think my heart is going to explode.”

That’s it.

As a parent, I don’t think you ever lose that feeling. Actually, that’s not true. If my own mother is any indication, that adoration might shift to the next generation of tiny humans. I remember a Sunday family dinner at my mom’s house. My oldest was just a baby. My mother held her up (think Mufasa showing off Simba at Pride Rock), looked into her blue eyes and declared, “YOU are the love of my life.”

Never mind that my brothers and her husband were ALSO sitting at the table. I mean I had always known I was not my mom’s favorite among my siblings. But as we all made awkward eye contact around the table, it occurred to me I might not even be in the top 10. I can’t blame her though. There is something magical about the tiny humans.

My tiny humans are no longer tiny. They have grown into smart, strong, compassionate and fierce young women. And today, on Valentine’s Day, and every day I love them so much I do think my heart may explode.