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.
Yet you manage to keep your sense of prose!
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