He is very well fed. He doesn't know it though, he has no idea that he is warm and fat because of Babies-R-Us snugglers and expensive formula. His only job right now is to breath, eat and gas it up. What a life.
In the small moments that I do not think about my career, my commitments, my bills, my loans, my loathsome future...I am content to stare at Bryce. To kiss his little wrinkles. To smell his fuzzy head.
With Bryce beginning, he has reminded me of my own life. The good version. The one where I get to eat dinner with my Dad while he asks me genuine questions, the one where I talk to my fifteen year old sister and watch her develop opinions and become a little woman. The one where I have to humbly admit I have nothing figured out, but am being asked by Boet's (God) still small voice to "be here".
I am tempted often to scream at God, I plead with him to fix my Dad's body, to give my brothers babies insurance, to have someone tell me what to do with myself. Then I think, maybe I should just marry the next guy who comes along (1950's style) so I don't have to worry about all this uncertainty. And then I laugh a little, because I know this is not how it works.
Well I am here Boet, now what?