I can worry about money.  I can worry about what will happen to my body when it doesn’t get to exercise for six weeks.  I can worry about getting enough sleep or getting the baby’s room done or putting away the Christmas decorations before my parents come into town or whether the brownie I ate will upset Ian’s tummy.

What I choose to do:

• Marvel at his tiny, soft feet
• Kiss his lips
• Dance to Michael Jackson with Ian in the Moby, practicing our rhythm
• Looking out the window at the courtyard
• Massaging his back while he feeds
• Nap in the middle of the day when the laundry needs folding
• Watch documentaries at 3am while my fussy baby decides not to latch on for unknown reasons
• Blog!

I will never get this time back.  He will never be this little again.  Experiencing a miracle makes worrying about all the things I can’t control seem a little (lot) asinine.