He’s my “Yes” child.

Not that the Pickle was a “no” child. She was a faith child. An “okay God… You’re nuts, but whatever you say” child.

His arrival was not that clear. Not that expected.

He was that quiet whisper on a cold winter night. God asked, “Will you trust me?” And all we could answer was “Yes.”

And now he is our yes.

He’s having trouble sleeping, should I just keep him with me?


He doesn’t like solid food. Do you think he’ll like a nibble of birthday cake?


He seems to be wide awake… Should we let him stay up longer until he’s tired?


He wakes me up three times a night. Should I keep going in to him?


Yes. Yes. Yes.

Yes, I will cuddle him and squeeze him and kiss his face.

Yes, I will help him find comfort when he is distraught (even if ‘comfort’ is a paci)

Yes, I will pick him up when he crawls to me and climbs up my leg and smiles.

Yes, I will hold him while I get dinner ready, if for no other reason than to save my own sanity from his crying.


And in the middle of the night when I’m pushed past my breaking point or late in the day when I can’t move a muscle and I have kids climbing all over me…

Even then I find myself gazing at him – so perfect and beautiful – and I say yes. 

Yes. Yes. Yes, Baby Boy.


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