Balance isn’t something you catch and hold.

A yoga teacher told me that once. I think it applies to more than standing on one leg, I think she thought that too. It feels like we’ve got things decently under control with Roby. We can read how she’s feeling, understand what she needs, guide her to bed and up from it. I feel that the risk in that feeling of control is thinking it’ll last. 
Something else will come up, she’ll start teething, eating real food, dating, wearing pants with a belt, shoes even. It’s a whole parade of things and change and growth and you’ve got to work to get a grip on it again and again the whole time you’re here. 
It doesn’t stop,
doesn’t even take weekends off. 
Or holidays. 

The trouble with truly accepting that you can’t control anything is that it makes for a fairly sad world. The islands of repose between problem solving are lovely country. I’m getting better at enjoying the process of fjording or island hopping. The trick is to enjoy the salt in your nose and the wind in your hair as much as the sand between your toes. 

Is it as obvious to everyone else as it is to me that I’d really love to be somewhere warm? 

Yeah, probably.