nickname earned.

I have been writing blog posts in my head again, posts about baby diarrhea, about moving, about family. I also have a post in my head about the things a mom should have in her car at all times (I re-learned this when taking the girl to the doctor. In a moment of stellar parenting, she "went" all over everything and I only had a jacket, a diaper, socks and a blanket for her to wear into her appointment). Claire has been sick off and on this week with a nasty flu bug. Her being sick conflicted sharply with my desire have a life outside of comforting her. Also, there is a new tooth. Also, she seems to be developing separation anxiety. It's been a week. She has tried my patience with her illness, and it's not her fault, but really, girlie? Enough with the diarrhea. And enough with the screaming.

Here she is looking not so much like a baby, as a toddler. Despite numerous phone calls to friends for prayer and feeling like I can't do this job one more day, when I give her that final cuddle at night, I tell her the same thing every day, "I love you, Pooper. Until I take my last breath. I love you."