After last week, I craved simple.
Nothing complex. Nothing with too many words. No TV, no images rapidly changing. No fluid situations.
I wanted only simple.
So I settled the baby into the stroller and we walked. Up the hill. And we stopped at the bakery and we bought a loaf of bread. And it really doesn’t get much more simple than that. Walking and a baby and early morning spring sunshine and a loaf of bread. And I paused to take pictures of spring in bloom. And I paid particular attention to the way my calves stretched as I pushed the stroller up the hill. And I didn’t think of dangers or pain or tough conversations or struggles or trying and failing or strife. I thought only of me and the baby and the bread. And those are weeds by the side of the road but they are lovely.
And it felt good.
And then the baby got sick. And that felt complex, even though it really isn’t. Clearing his airways so he can breathe easily and cuddling him and calming him so he can fall asleep. Those things are simple. Those things we can do, even if we don’t want to at 2am and again at 3am and once more at 4am. Nothing feels simple at those hours. But these things we can do and these things help him feel better.
Sometimes feeling better is so simple.
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