I hate it when my little boy is sick. I wish he could tell me what hurts and why he cries. But instead I just guess and do my best to comfort him. I wish I could make it all better or suffer in his place. He looks so sad and so pitiful, and I know he doesn't understand why he feels this way. Yet even when his forehead is hot with fever he still has a grin or a squeal, especially when he hears his papa's voice or spots the guitar lying on the carpet.

It's been a long day. Partly because we had long, almost sleepless night. Isaiah was warm and restless. He wanted to be in my arms and nursing most of the night and most of the day. So we rocked and sang and I read when I could. I did laundry in between. We took a nap together this morning. I look around at the house and feel like I've spent the day doing nothing. But I have to remind myself that the "nothing" I have done is more important than anything else I could be doing. I do value these days. As much as I hate it when he's sick, I'm glad that I get to spend this time with him.