Baby E struggled with his sausage patty this evening. He had taken a few bites out of it, and it was shaped more or less like a crescent moon. He had a divided plate sitting in front of him, and as he positioned his sausage into one of the little square cubbies, it did not sit flush with the bottom of the plate. This was extremely distressing to him, and he sat there crying and smashing the sausage onto his plate. Defeated, he gave up and moved along to his next crisis.
In honest, the kids were very well behaved this evening, if not a little wild. I decided to wear them out by having them do exercises until their bodies were tired as well. They fell asleep quickly, much to my relief.
I was going through a stack of old papers this evening, trying to make a dent in the mess that is my house, when I came across my discharge folder from the hospital. With a quick calculation, I realized I would have been 24 weeks pregnant this week. But I’m not. I don’t think about it nearly as much anymore, but every once in awhile it gets me. I guess tonight was one of those nights. I let myself dwell on the what-ifs for a few moments, but tried not to linger there because what happened happened. And life goes on. And thinking of those dear children asleep down the hall makes my life that much sweeter and my time that much more precious. I won’t say they are my world, because that would make them idols, but I love them more than I thought could be possible and every day is better for having them in it.