Sintra is beautifully overwhelming:
Italian tourist's reaching fingers pinch Finn's fat cheeks as we pass by on narrow stairwells. My compulsive need to slather EVERYONE's hands with the "pathetically organic hand sanitizer" in my bag, is stifled with their squeals of, "BELLO! belisimo!"
Waitresses insist on holding Finn, and so many strange kisses are planted all over our spoiled baby's face.
We show Finn a ceramic wall, and I'm crying. I see Joe showing Finn a statue, and I cry. I feel so very blessed to be here.
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