I swear I have changed 8 poopy diapers today (baby has a bit of the runs) plus slathered my child in lotion twice (eczema) plus soothed him back to sleep when he woke up too early and too cranky plus fed him three meals and a billion snacks and THEN cleaned up all the food he flung on the floor. I have made sure he is not too cold or too wet or too tired or too thirsty. I have gotten him down from the top of the table one hundred times. I have read him 10 picture books. I only let him watch a few episodes of something. I tried to rock him to sleep but he pushed me away and pointed to his crib and said "night-night."
Earlier, I caught him looking at a book by himself for a blessed moment. He softly made the noises of an owl as he turned the pages. There is a little angel somewhere in that tiny, glorious little whirlwind. There is a little bit of the divine breaking through me as I care for him day in and day out. There is a little child transfixed by clouds and leaves and owls; there is me, a little girl still struggling to believe in a good God who made them all.