Isabella has a cold. She was up and down most of the night — fussing, settling, fussing again. Neither of us got much sleep.
The house is a little messy. The yard needs mowing. There's a list, and I haven't touched it.
Then this morning she finally calmed down and fell asleep on my chest.
The windows are open. The first real cool front of the fall is moving through the house. The Beatles are playing. Asa (the pup) is stretched out by the fireplace. Isabella is warm and heavy against me, breathing slow, and I'm not getting up for anything.
I'm not worried about a single thing.
I used to think a perfect moment was when everything was handled — the list done, the house clean, the baby sleeping through the night. I had it backwards. The list isn't done. The house isn't clean. She didn't sleep. And this is as perfect as it gets.
Nothing is wrong. Everything can wait.
I just want to remember this one.