The Picture I Didn’t Take Today

Impending molars, food sensitivities, or just general two-year-oldness are contributing to Orson’s new reluctance to sleep.  After an insufficient nap, I snuggled him close and sat on the couch.  Just a few moments later, I was surprised to feel his breathing slow and his limbs give way to gravity.  The bliss of having one of my babies sleep on my chest isn’t something I get to experience often these days.

After a minute or two of relishing my newfound role as a pillow, I started wondering where my phone was.  Like many of us, if I find myself with a rare moment of downtime, I am quick to alleviate it with the ever-enticing Scroll.  As my eyes located the shiny, thin rectangle across the room, I was inclined to panic.  My fingers longed for the methodic *pop* I have grown accustomed to with my PopSocket, and my thumb yearned to slide its way from bottom to top, bottom to top, bright and shiny photos revealed each time to keep my brain from its dreaded state of boredom.

A few deep breaths later, I realized that I had left it it “Do Not Disturb” mode after driving, and was shocked to feel relieved.  This moment, with a heavy two-year old head on my chest, was everything I needed.  I felt my heart pound against his ear, and his tap against my navel.  The snow fell heavy and quiet as I scanned the mountainside for elk and noted the relentless work of the magpies.  The bright white outside reflected itself in the wispy hair on Orson’s forearms, and I thought about what a miracle it is that all the tiny parts and pieces of each of my children have come together so beautifully.  I felt gratitude.

We spent the better part of the hour like this.  I breathed, I felt bored, and it was beautiful.

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