Oh, patience, patience, patience, patience.
Big eyes & love.
More patience, patience, patience, patience.
Strong arms, and the rocking back and forth of waves and the yogic 3 part breath.
A little more patience.
Diapers. Lots of them.
Singing, like chanting, to help our (Isaac and my) minds go elsewhere.
And the primordial rhythm of hunger and satisfaction.
1 comment:
Yet you manage to keep your sense of prose!
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