The part where I get all mushy

Last night I sent Schmoopsie the following text message, even though we were in the same house:

Things I secretly love:

having to toss

stuffed animals and

 tiny pairs of pants

 out of the covers

 before bed. 

 Thank you for my good life.

And here's the thing:  it's true.

And:

A few days ago, I finally found the word to explain why I've been a little bit of a crazy person for a while.  Unsettled.  I feel unsettled.

It's just this one part of my life. One part of many, but it leaves the whole of me confused.  When I consider it, my stomach curls and twists into a knot.  Things are not as they should be, but I don't know how they should be.

I can say with confidence that I am working very hard to find out.  I talk about it, thinking out loud, to Paddy until I'm certain his brain wants to explode, and yet he is patient.  I study and search and fast and pray very, very hard.  My desperate words can't seem to find their way out past the rooftops.  In this area, the heavens are silent.

And then:

Last night I was sitting with Bug in the rocking chair.  For a moment or two, my normally independent, curious child buried her head into my neck.  Her fevered skin was hot against my cheek, her sick body squirmy in the darkness.  I drank in the smell of her.  And in that moment, I was content, peaceful, calm-- settled.  And that is one prayer that flew out easily into the sky.

Thank you for my good life.