There's no tv in here and I'm victim to a nursing baby gone to sleep. I am her human pacifier. So peacefulI can't see how it would be a good idea to move her or get up. I'll just stay here until Gray makes too much noise or a train goes by or my battery dies.
I'm thinking about the safety gates we need. Ivy has found the playroom - carpeted with Legos and mess and it's the one room we don't allow her in and it's the one room she crawls to the fastest. How do they know, at so young, to want what they can not have? She doesn't even know what's in there, but she knows she's not allowed. And so it is her only determination to find out.
Why do we still do this, when we're old, still doing wrong when we know what is right? Relying on some form of pacifier, living or lifeless, words or actions or feelings, to get through our days.
I know the answer. I just like to ponder, let it roll around in my hand, crawl to it and remember, sometimes.
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