More eggs!

Two eggs is a plenty for a 19 month old. Three is putting away some serious chickens. Four is outrageous. Five is epic. I feel like a regular Waffle House over here. Silas had two eggs. Now he is on to his third. Oh wait, we have moved onto his 4th. But wait, now Josie wants two eggs, and Silas has taken one from her. That puts the total to 5.

Josie is in the backyard rolling snow balls. She has been up since 7:00, woke me up at 12, 2, and 4 for small favors in the night. "Can you change the song...its too loud," and I have forgotten the last request. I was somewhere hovering between sleep and sanity. "I need help," is a nice phrase, spiritually speaking, but as it relates to Josie, I am sick of it. If God is just a giant version of me, a cosmic grandfather, we got problems. I am thankful that is not that case. And Silas, what will he want next? What will I want next?

The breach is ever before me, the breach between "life as it should be, and life as it is." Another egg please? There is nothing like having my appetites curbed by the appetites of my 19 month old. Nothing is right. The reality of feeding, changing, and feeding him, again and again, over and over, is like nothing. I literally am used. I am a servant. I guess I have advanced. I am married, I have a house, and I have two children. But, if I were Darwin, I would have assumed I had failed. It is very hard. Sometimes I feel like I would rather be cleaning garbage cans than cooking my 19 month old eggs. And that is honest. But here I am, on my third egg, charging forward.