[Author’s Note: I’m back-dating this post to the day on which it happened. Obviously, however, it took quite a while for me to get everything written, edited, and posted… much longer than I had anticipated.]
Caelestis was barely an hour old when Borealis, Aza, and Rhys departed for their long-awaited sabbatical to Amma’s house. Not surprisingly, their rapid evacuation was initiated by my oldest.
“Um, have we taken enough pictures yet?” Borealis unsubtly asked after posing for Monet Nicole’s photography.
I glanced over at Monet. “What do you think?”
“We definitely got some good ones,” she affirmed.
“Ok,” I sighed. “Well, give Caelestis a sweet kiss, and then you can go.”
The big kids dutifully took turns hugging and kissing us goodbye before scurrying away. I could hear the shuffle of feet shoving into shoes, then the repeated slam of the front storm door.
Last of all — and, presumably, once all the kids were situated into their carseats — my mother also came to say her farewells.
I raised my eyebrows. “You must have promised them something amazing.”
She shrugged mysteriously. “We’ll have a good time.”
And with that, Taylor and I were left alone with our newborn son. (And, you know, also with Monet and the midwives.)
The next two days passed in a quiet, undifferentiated blur of nursing, sleeping, and aimlessly hanging out. I had reluctantly committed to the 5-5-5 rule — particularly since subsequent pregnancies tend to correlate with a longer and more challenging pelvic floor recovery.
[Author’s Note: This may be too much information… but this correlation was absolutely the case for me.]
I wasn’t sure that I’d make it through the full fifteen-day protocol of laying down / sitting down / barely standing — but if there was any time to try, it was while I was responsible for only a single, stationary baby.
To the surprise of no one at all, I chafed at the “forced rest” — especially as I watched the entire burden of household upkeep fall to a long-sufferingly uncomplaining Taylor. We had kept our home fairly spotless in the weeks preceding Cae’s arrival. Tragically, valiantly, Taylor sought to keep it that way.
[Author’s Note: Alas! Alone, Taylor simply could not restrain the tide of entropy that would inevitably restore our abode to its former squalor.]
Bed-bound as I was, I couldn’t imagine what tasks required so much attention. Undoubtedly, though, they must have been numerous, since — coupled with diaper changes, all of which Taylor handled — these duties (and doodies) kept him fairly well occupied.
I, meanwhile, attempted to ward off my loneliness by putting the finishing touches on A Heavily Foreshadowed and Yet Totally Unexpected Twist.
The energy poured into that goal was enormously great — and enormously frustrating. That reality must have showed plainly on my face, because Taylor — during one of his brief forays back into our room — prompted, “Why are you upset?”
I didn’t immediately have an answer. While I gathered my thoughts, I absentmindedly checked Cae’s latch. Thankfully, in the forty-eight hours since his birth, we had encountered no issues with breastfeeding — and with every hour that went by, his sleep became deeper and calmer. So far, he had been another dream baby.
But, those blessings seemed like rainbow icing on an ethereal cake — because, even now, I could barely believe that God had plucked Caelestis out from a million frozen stars and brought him earthside for us. The baby seemed like a beautiful mirage who might nevertheless disappear at any second. That sense of impossibility — and the lingering sense of impermanence — were the main reasons I still dragged my feet with the story of his origins.
Well, that — and also embarrassment.
Finally, I summarized, “I waited so long to post this story. Like, it took forever to write — but I also was so scared to post it until we knew if he would live. It made my hiatus so much longer than it needed to be — or maybe even than it should have been.”
Taylor cocked an eyebrow. “So, finally posting this admits that you’ve taken forever… to finally post this?”
“Uh, yeah. That.”
Taylor: <grunts somewhat empathetically>
“Like, will I actually get back to writing for the blog? Or will various things just continue to eat up that time?”
[Author’s Note: The timing of this follow-up post would suggest a combination of those possibilities.]
“I guess we’ll see,” Taylor responded. “But you should just go ahead and post this one — because at this point, you’re only dragging your feet.”
I sighed. “You’re probably right.” Then, glancing at the clock, I noted, “You’ve gotta go soon, right?”
“Yup. I was just coming to say bye. I’ll be back in about three hours… with three more kids.”
I laughed. “This is a decision that we made, but now we have to actually do it.”
“What were we thinking!?” Taylor whispered sardonically.
And on that ominous note, he slipped away to retrieve those three children.
It was just after three when I heard the Explorer return to our driveway. A minute later, I heard the storm door slam shut and the deadbolt disengage. And then I heard… nothing.
I craned my neck to look out into the hall — and I discovered Borealis lingering silently outside my door.
“Hello, Borealis,” I said formally. I could tell we were both a bit nervous.
Is this still ok? Are *we* still ok? Where do we go from here?
“Daddy decided to send us in one at a time,” he explained sheepishly.
“Oh! So he sent you in first, because he trusts that you can be the most calm and responsible.”
“Exactly!” Borealis agreed with obvious relief. He grinned, flashing the front tooth gap made by a recent tumble on the school playground.
[Note: Even with the investigative assistance of his entire class, the tooth was never found.]
“So, I’m just going to go potty and wash my hands,” he said calmly.
Tears pricked at my eyes. When did he become so mature? I wondered. I still remember when he was as little as Cae.
Borealis emerged from the bathroom and methodically climbed onto my bed. I held Caelestis against my chest and gestured to the pillow-throne I had just arranged. “You can sit there, and I’ll put him into your arms.”
Bo carefully sat in the prescribed location, then looked up and noted, “Your belly is getting smaller already!”
—sigh— The compliments men give.
“Uh, thanks, Bo,” I answered flatly. “You probably shouldn’t say that to any other moms, though.”
“Oh, ok.”
I slowly placed Cae into Bo’s arms, then scrambled to find my phone. “We have to get a picture before anyone else comes in.”
But at that moment…
“BAAAAAABYYYYYY!”
… Aza came flying through the door and into my bedroom.
“I guess your father didn’t account for your using the bathroom,” I muttered.
“Aza, go away!” Borealis whined as he swatted at her grasping hands. “It’s still my turn!”
“But I. Want. BABY!”
“Australis,” I rebuked. “Calm yourself. It’s still Bohbi’s turn.”
I smoothed my oldest son’s hair back into place, then said, “Ok, let’s get a picture. Can you kiss Caelestis for me?”
Bo readily complied, before reluctantly admitting, “Ok… I guess it’s Aza’s turn.”
His sister needed no additional invitation. She scrambled onto the bed and clamored for Caelestis. “Baby! Baby!”
“Australis!” I reprimanded again. “You must calm down. I will not let you hold your baby brother if you’re being totally crazy.”
My daughter drew in an audible breath and slowed her frenzy to a barely-controlled jitter. She flashed me a manic smile as Bo grudgingly slid off the bed.
I painstakingly placed Cae into her waiting arms, prompting a single squeak of, “Baby!”
“Ok,” I sighed. “Let’s get a picture of you, too.”
“Aza’s had a long enough turn!” Bo complained after several seconds.
“No, I haven’t! He likes me!”
“No, he doesn’t!” Bo shot back. “He’s crying, and he wants boobies!”
“Can we go back to calling it ‘nursies’?” I grumbled.
But — regardless of nomenclature — Borealis was right: Cae was indeed indicating a desire to be fed. As I reached for him, Aza whimpered in protest and temporarily refused to give him up.
“Come on, sweets. Let me nurse him.”
“But you already nursed him!”
I sighed. “Well, sometimes, babies want nursies not because they’re hungry, but because they’re a bit nervous. Nursies helps them feel safer.”
Aza wrinkled her nose. “Did *I* want nursies to feel safer?”
“Yes. Literally all the time.”
I scooted my daughter to the side and lay down to nurse Caelestis. On his other side, Aza continued to fuss.
I’m gonna have to nurse her next, I thought sardonically. But, before I could make that joke, we heard the storm door slam again.
I could barely crane my neck around to see the doorway. To my surprise, the newly admitted entrant didn’t come barreling down the hall. Instead — quite uncharacteristically — that child crept silently toward my room and slowly peaked around the corner.
Tears flooded my eyes at the sight. My Rhysi — tough, funny, charismatic Rhysi — positively radiated insecurity and vulnerability.
“Oh, baby,” I soothed. “Come here.”
My little toddler — freshly supplanted as the youngest child — looked at the floor as he shuffled toward my bed.
It wasn’t hard to read his expression. Do you still love me? Even though I’m not the baby anymore?
Still crying, I answered as though he had spoken. “Yes, of course I still love you! You may not be the baby anymore, but you will always, always be my Rhysi.”
“I am still the baby!” he protested — punctuating his claim with an artificial “Waaa!”.
“You’re the big baby,” I conceded.
“No, he’s not!” Aza protested. “He’s a toddler!”
I ignored her complaint and twisted around to reach for Rhys’s arms.
When did his head get *so* massive? I wondered as I pulled him onto the bed. And his body — he’s so dense! He’s like a little lacrosse player.
I noted his grubby hands and unmistakable toddler stink, and I forcibly suppressed my unexpected revulsion.
Yes — he’s gross, I admitted to myself. And more than that… he hasn’t been a baby for a long time. I’ve been treating him like one, but he’s almost *three* now.
Caelestis let out a piteous mewl as he lost hold of my nipple.
“Oh, sorry baby — here,” I soothed, trying to help him relatch. “Aza — please. Keep your hands off the baby’s face while I’m trying to nurse him.”
“I want under the blanket!” Rhys whimpered against my back. “Let me in!”
“Ah!” I squawked. “Oh my gosh! Too many demands!”
I managed to lift the sheets enough to let Rhys wriggle in behind me. I turned my attention back to Caelestis, swatted away Aza’s hand again, and successfully relatched Caelestis. Then, looking around, I wondered, “Where’s Bo?”
“He’s reading The Chronicles of Narnia,” Aza answered.
That made sense — but I hadn’t even noticed him leave. Admittedly, though, I hardly needed another kid in bed with me at the moment.
“Ok, whatever,” I sighed. “He can hold Caelestis again later.”
Aza immediately perked up. “Can *I* hold him again later?”
Rhys extended a dirty finger toward his baby brother. “Can *I* hold him, too?”
“Yes! Oh my gosh! Not while he’s nursing!” I yelled.
Rhys whimpered again, and I immediately felt bad.
Yes, I’m overwhelmed, I acknowledged silently, but I still need to calm down.
While Aza fiddled with Cae’s hair — but thankfully, not his face — I started to do box breaths. I got through three rounds before a still-whimpering Rhys began to slither out of my bed.
“No, wait!” I pleaded. An idea had just popped into my head — one that might help him through this transition. Both him… and me.
“We like to look at pictures of when you were a baby, right?” I asked.
“I want to look at pictures of me as a baby,” Rhys responded automatically.
“Ok, let me grab my phone,” I said.
Two minutes later — after we shuffled all four bed occupants and all the bed linens — Aza discovered my phone under Taylor’s pillow.
“Oh yes, of course. Thanks, Aza,” I blustered. “Let me just get back to April 2022.”
I scrolled back in time through my photos until I came to the block of Monet Nicole’s unmistakable work.
“Look — here’s a picture of Aza and Bo waiting for you to be born,” I said, selecting a particular picture for Rhys. “And they were sooooo excited to meet you.”
“Oh, and here’s a video of Aza praying for you to be born safely! Amma took this one.”
Rhys listened to the low-resolution film for a few seconds, then scoffed, “Baby Ori!?”
“That’s what we used to call you,” I reminded him. “Before we knew whether you were a boy or a girl.”
“I’m not Ori; I’m Rhysi.”
“Alright, Orientalis,” I sighed. Turning back to the pictures, I noted, “And look — in all these ones, you were still in my belly. And here’s one of you being born—”
“It doesn’t show the actual birth part,” Aza sniffed dismissively.
“—which doesn’t show the actual birth part,” I agreed. “And here’s the first time I got to hold you, and we were so happy to have you be born… so that you could come be a part of our family!”
“And here’s where Daddy checked if you were a boy or a girl,” I continued. “And here’s Mommy being super surprised that you were a boy….”
“And there’s my penis!” Rhys shrieked.
“Uh, no. That’s your cord stump.”
“And here’s where Bo and Aza came in to meet you!” I concluded. “And they were so excited to meet you because they were so happy to have a new baby brother in the family! Just like….”
I quickly navigated through my photos, but Aza beat me to the punch. “Just like when Caelestis was born!”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Now let’s look at the same pictures, but for Caelestis.”
Rhys appeared skeptical, but interested nonetheless.
I readjusted Cae’s latch, then selected the first photo. “Here’s the one where you all came in to see me — and see, Caelestis is still in my belly.”
Flipping to another picture, I explained, “And here’s Aza in the bathroom with Mommy and Daddy, waiting for Caelestis to be born.”
“And I was there when he was born,” Aza reminded us.
“Yes, Nurse Aza… you were there,” I agreed. “But don’t lord it over your squeamish brothers.”
“And here’s right after the midwife handed Caelestis to me….”
“And look! Here’s where you kids came in to meet him!”
Beside me, Rhys squirmed in excitement. “That’s me!”
“Yes!” I enthused. “And look — you were so excited to meet Caelestis… just like Bo and Aza were so excited to meet you.”
I thought I saw a flicker of connection in Rhys’s brown-hazel eyes.
Will he get it…? I wondered. Can he give up being the baby?
Slowly, his gaze shifted to his newborn brother, and his full, rosy lips quirked into a small, slightly embarrassed smile. It was a familiar expression — one that had skipped over Taylor on its way down from his father, and maybe from other forefathers before him. That particular grin always reminds me of the unbroken line of sons in my husband’s family tree.
Finally, tilting his head, Rhys shyly murmured, “Hi, Caelestis.” He reached out a huge, grubby toddler hand and ruffled Cae’s shock of nearly-black hair — eliciting a weak mewl in response.
“Oh, he’s crying!” Aza wailed, immediately rubbing the baby’s face in a misguided attempt to calm him.
Rhys, likewise, was quick with his diagnosis. “Mommy, he needs boobies!” Without hesitation, he pushed Cae’s face — and Aza’s hand — into my still-exposed breast.
Not surprisingly, this effort proved counterproductive, and Cae responded with another, slightly stronger mewl. Aza rubbed all the more vigorously — while I valiantly lost my fight against hyperventilation.
“Ahh! Aza! Stop with the face! And Rhys, stop — well, just stop!”
I forced a bit of distance between my middle kids and their newborn brother, then shouted over his cries. “Please — stop touching! You are not helping by shoving him around or getting right up in his face.”
“But I want to hold him!” Aza complained.
“And you will! But not while I’m nursing him!”
I glanced down, then amended, “Or, at least, trying to nurse him.”
I readjusted Cae — again — and tried to ward off the oppressive claustrophobia of being stuck in bed, surrounded by kids.
This was a decision that we made, I reminded myself silently.
Unfortunately, “myself” was ready with a snappy retort. Yes, but suffocation doesn’t *by necessity* attend to having four children.
At that moment, I heard — once again — the sound of the front door slamming.
“Taylor!” I shouted.
“Yes?” he called back.
“I — you just sent them in — Taylor!”
A few seconds later, my husband appeared around the corner. “I sent the calm one first,” he remarked.
“But then you also sent the others! Unattended!”
Taylor: <grunts breezily in agreement>
“I am a literal sitting duck!“ I squawked.
He cocked an eyebrow. “Literal?”
“Well, I might as well be!”
“Alright, kids,” Taylor sighed. “Let’s go get some ice cream.”
Aza immediately perked up. She gave her youngest brother a kiss and chirped, “Bye, Cae-Cae!” as she slid off the bed. Before leaving the room, she solemnly informed me, “I do like ice cream… even though I’m Queen of the Meat.”
Taylor cringed. “Maybe we can pivot to ‘Queen of the Protein’, instead.”
I watched my carnivorous daughter scurry away. “Yeah. I’ve tried that. She’s pretty attached that awful title.” Turning to Rhys, I prompted, “Are you going to go eat ice cream too?”
“No!” was his emphatic response.
Taylor: <grunts in surprise> “You don’t want ice cream!?”
“Ew!” Rhys whined. Then, looking between Taylor and me, he glibly explained, “I like chicken.”
“Ha!” I barked in surprise. “What!?”
“With mac ‘n’ cheese and hot dog,” he added.
“But don’t you like ice cream?” I pressed.
Waving his hand in a vaguely diplomatic gesture, he answered, “Chicken is yummy.”
“Uhhhh….” Taylor hedged. “I don’t think we have any chicken. Do you want me to make you mac ‘n’ cheese, instead?”
Rhys nodded. “With hot dog.”
“Sure. With hot dog.”
And with that, Taylor returned to his short-order-cook duties, while Rhys snuggled back into place in bed.
“Can we look at more pictures of baby me?” he asked.
I sighed. “Yes, I guess so.”
We scrolled again through Rhys’s zeroth birthday, then continued into his first days earthside.
“Look — here’s one of Bohbi holding you!”
“Oh look, and one of Aza holding you, too.”
I scrolled through a few more pictures. “And here’s another one of Aza holding you… and another one… and another one.”
We kept scrolling through pictures — a disproportionate number of which featured Aza holding Baby Rhys — until Taylor finally called, “Rhysi! Your mac and cheese is ready!”
“With hot dog!” he yelled back as he leapt off the bed.
I sighed deeply. “Back to just you and me, Cae Guy.”
[Note: “Caelestis” is Latin — so though it doesn’t appear so, this nickname actually rhymes: “Kai Guy”.]
By this point, the baby had stopped nursing and was merely snuggling peacefully against my breast. I ruffled his vernix-coated hair and wondered what kind of person he would become.
“‘He will be bold with the truth,’” I whispered. It was the [possibly] prophetic word I had received for his middle name: “Ray”, like a ray of light. It was the perfect name to go with his special verses.
You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden…. [So] let your let your light shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.
— Matthew 5:14,16 NKJV
I gazed at my newborn’s unmistakably Asian features. “Well, your story certainly can’t be hidden. Better to be bold with the truth than to deny it.”
“Bold with what truth?” Borealis asked. He had apparently reached the end of a chapter and had wandered back into my room.
I bit my lip. “With the truth that he’s not genetically related to us.”
“Because we adopted him as an embryo.”
“Yes, but a lot of people don’t really know about embryo adoption. I mean, even we didn’t.”
“So we tell them!”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s the truth with which he’ll need to be bold. Part of it, at least. And until he can tell his own story… it’s up to us to tell it.”
“Why?”
“Umm….” I hesitated. “Well, a lot of people saw that I was pregnant with him. They probably expected him to look like you and Aza and Rhysi — but he doesn’t look like you kids… and more importantly, he doesn’t look like your dad.”
“So?”
I grimaced. “Uh, maybe when you’re older. The important thing is that we use Cae’s story to tell people that God loves every image-bearer.”
Borealis rolled his eyes. “I already know that.”
“Great,” I deadpanned. “Then you’ll be super at telling other people.” I thought about his most iconic evangelism attempt, then added, “And I’m sure you’ll do it with tons of grace and mercy.”
“Probably,” Bo scoffed. “Can I hold Cae again?”
I surveyed the sleeping babe. “Uh… yeah, I guess so.”
Bo got resettled onto the bed, and I carefully placed Caelestis into his lap.
“Awwwwww, he’s such a cute baby!” Borealis squealed.
Unfortunately, this exclamation had the unintended consequence of waking said cute baby. Cae let out a sweet little cry, and Borealis immediately shoved him back into my lap.
“It’s ok,” I told both sons. I began rhythmically patting him the baby, and he soon returned to sleep. Bo, too, seemed content with the renewed tranquillity.
However, the infantile wail had caught the ear of Australis, who — having finished her ice cream — came bounding back into the room. Chocolate still lingered on her breath and in the corners of her lips.
“Go wash your hands and face,” I commanded automatically.
She did — barely — and then returned to my room.
“Can I hold Cae again?” she asked as she scrambled over my legs.
The specter of claustrophobia flitted around the edges of my consciousness. I won’t always be stuck in bed, I mentally censured the sensation. Be a freaking grown-up.
I took a few deep breaths, then allowed, “Yes. Bo, can you scoot over?”
“What!?” he whimpered. “But I barely got to hold him!”
“Well… you handed him back as soon as he started crying.”
“But now he’s not crying!”
I nodded. “Yeah — but you didn’t ask for him back.”
“But *I* did!” Aza chirped as I placed Cae in her lap. He wriggled a bit, but settled down as she shushed him loudly.
“Shhhhhhhhh! That’s a good Cae Baby. I know you want Mommy, but you’re ok! You’re ok! Shhhhhhhhh!”
Borealis, in contrast, was inconsolable. “But I didn’t get to hold him again!” he wailed. “And Aza is just going to hold him and hold him, and he’ll love her more than me, and he’ll never love me!”
Oh, my gosh. What do I do with this!? I wondered frantically. I need them to love each other. *They* need them to love each other.
First things first. “Bobhi, come here.”
I scooted toward Aza and held out my arm. “Tuck in here, babe.”
My oldest son crawled over my legs and cuddled against my left side. I pulled him close and kissed the top of his head. His body trembled with emotion.
He’s still so little, I suddenly realized. He’s only *seven*. Sometimes he’s so mature — and sometimes he can *act* like a grown-up — but in the end… he’s still just a kid.
I chuckled at this realization. Even when I savor his vulnerability, Rhys is older than I think; even when I admire his maturity, Borealis is younger than I think. Funny that it took a new baby to help me realize that.
But this is hardly my first realization, and it certainly won’t be my last. Years will pass, and I’ll be surprised again. Babies don’t stay babies, and kids don’t stay kids. We exist in time, and the one temporal guarantee is change.
With this weighty realization, I began, “Bobhi, do you remember when Rhysi was a baby?”
“Uh… sort of.”
I sighed. “Well, I guess that’s about as much as I could hope for. Anyway, I want to show you something.” I flipped through those same pictures of Rhysi’s early days, then prompted, “What do you notice?”
Borealis took a deep, shuddering breath, then moaned, “I don’t know!”
I sighed deeply. “Borealis. Stop fake crying.”
“I’m real crying!”
Well, that might actually be true today, I thought. Aloud, I said, “What *I* notice is this: Aza held Rhysi a lot more than you held him.“
“So?”
“So… does Rhysi love you less than he loves Aza?”
“No?” he answered uncertainly.
“No,” I repeated emphatically. “He loves you both, but in different ways. Aza is just more snuggly than you are. She held him more than you did… because she asked to hold him more than you did. You’ve never really loved holding babies or snuggling, at all.”
“I snuggle sometimes!”
I glanced over at Aza, who was cooing gently at a now-sleeping Caelestis. “Not like she does.” I turned back to Bo and clarified, “This is not an indictment! You two are just different people, and you show love to your younger brothers in different ways.”
Borealis pondered this thought as he stuck his tongue through the still-novel gap in his front teeth.
[Author’s Note: That single-tooth gap is now twice as wide.]
Finally, he pointed out, “I do puzzles with Rhysi.”
“Yes! That’s a way that you show love to Rhysi, and Aza doesn’t usually do that.”
My oldest finally seemed mollified by this example — but it sparked a realization for me, as well. I smoothed Bo’s hair to the side, then turned and did the same for Aza. “You know, I have to show my love differently for each of you, too.”
Bo’s ever-expressive eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Of course. A few years ago, you received love from me when I taught you to read. You craved knowing how to read. You wanted to be able to pick up any book and know what it said.”
“Well duh — now I can!” Bo replied flippantly.
“Indeed,” I grumbled. “I learned that when I accidentally left out the manual for my menstrual cup.”
“For what?”
I cringed at the memory. Mommy, what does “men-strew-yull” mean?
“Uh, nevermind,” I said. “Your father immediately threw it away.”
Bo opened his mouth to respond, but I plowed on. “Anyway, you felt loved when I helped you acquire the skill to read anything — and everything — you found. But now, you don’t really like reading with me anymore.”
“Because I read faster on my own.”
“Yes, true. And now—” Unexpected tears filled my eyes. “Well, now, I’m not entirely sure how you like to receive love. I guess probably board games.”
I should know this, I chided myself.
Bo stared at me blankly, no help forthcoming. Finally, though, he exclaimed, “And Aza likes art stuff!”
“Yes!” I agreed, relieved. “And Rhysi loves puzzles.”
“And I do those with him.”
“Uh, sometimes. Sure.”
Beside me, Cae shifted in his sleep, prompting a fresh wave of mothering by Australis. “You’re ok! You’re ok!”
I smiled at the sight, then turned back to Borealis. “What I’m saying is… you’re all different. I’m the mother of each of you, but I have to try to love each of you in the specific, right way.”
At that moment, Rhysi ran back into the room and hopped on the bed. “Mommy, can we look at pictures of baby me?”
Taylor followed behind and leaned against the doorframe. “How’s it going, Mommy?”
I surveyed my four kids. All so different in personality; all so equally precious as image-bearers.
Finally, I looked back at Taylor. “Well, you know… I’m trying my best.”
A poke from Rhys, followed by a cry from Cae.
“Mommy! Caelestis needs boobies!”
I sighed. “Make that… trying my breast.”
P.S. In the intervening weeks, Rhys has held his younger brother numerous times. And, while it’s rare… sometimes he can even refrain from touching the baby’s face.
