He’s fussy throughout the day; cries every time I lay him down

Whether the carriage, the swing, or the crib

He just wants me to hold and comfort him

To sing my silly songs, rock him, and hold the pacifier in his mouth

I breathe in his baby scent, feel his soft hair, and soothe his cries

See him trying to smile despite the pain

I give him Tylenol, rub his chest with Hyland baby stuff

And wait for morning so I can take him to the doctor

In the meantime, the washing machine doesn’t work

The dishes pile up

The table remains uncleared

Then a thought pops into my head

That this is exactly where I am supposed to be

At home with my children, taking care of them

Exactly what I am supposed to be doing at this time

And that the mess is not a reflection of me

That God doesn’t expect me to run a clean house at this time

But to put my children’s and my own care at the forefront

So it’s ok to read a book amidst the mess

And rock the baby carriage with my foot while I write this

Maybe pay somebody else to deal with the mess

While I take care of my guys and me

Especially me