Lately, I’ve found myself doing a lot of math. The numbers just haven’t been adding up.
How can I work so many hours and, yet, it seems like I keep getting further behind?
How can I make good money only to have it all eaten up by the time the next paycheck rolls around?
How early do I actually have to get up to find any tiny amount of time in the day that belongs solely to me?
How am I supposed to keep one dog and two cats alive without one of them killing another?
And then, tonight, as I was rocking Izzy to sleep, trying to mute the to-do list of things I had to take care of once she was in bed, I heard a squeaky little voice with no volume control whatsoever say, “I yuv you.”
“What, Izzy?” I asked.
“Iyuvyou,” she repeated, squeaky and matter-of-fact.
Something shifted in my chest. In that split second it became abundantly clear that none of the rest of it matters. It will all work out. It always does. Nothing else in life counts as much as those three run-together words, uttered by this joyful, hilarious, snarky little creature.