My baby is sick. Something barky, something feverish, something uncomfortable. I'm certain he picked it up from the church nursery where my Grandmother-in-Law's funeral was held on Monday. I knew when we walked into the nursery that there was a chance we'd walk out with more than we wanted but he was antsy in the service and causing too much commotion.

Cries rang out from his crib last night as I was drifting into a peaceful sleep. I waited for a moment, hoping he'd fall back asleep, he didn't. Next were the coughs disguised as barks and louder crying. My husband met me in the hallway, giving each other the "uh oh" eyes we opened his door and found him up.

Bundled in his blanket, I wrapped him in my warm embrace, drawing him nearer to me with each step out of his room. My husband grabbed a bottle of apple juice cut with a ton of water, moved the big rocking chair to sit in front of the TV playing Golden Girls, a blanket for me, and we settled into a night of unknowns.

Sucking his thumb he snuggled into me, like I was all he really needed. Like the pain instantly evaporated when in my arms. I think it really did. Rocking, singing, kissing and soaking in the comfort we brought to each other, it wasn't so bad that my eyes were wide awake even if they wanted to close.

I was his everything and I could still make it all better.

Yesterday my 6 year old told me about something that happened at school earlier in the week. He bought a snack for the playground, they get to do that two times per week. He purchased a cheese stick and crackers, grabbed a seat next to some other children, and opened his cheese stick.

It fell into the dirt, covered in muck.

His heart crushed, it was the cheese stick he'd been thinking about all morning long.

Kids at the table laughed at him and made fun of him. He cried. And they laughed more. He just sat there, unsure of what to do next, opening his crackers he shoved them in and let the moment pass.

This broke my heart into a million little pieces. How come it is that life forces us out of the ability to comfort and make things all better for our children into this uncomfortable place where we can't always be there to love them through something embarrassing or painful or sad?

It doesn't seem fair.

I guided him with my words as to what he could do if there was a next time like that. I hugged him and told him I loved him and that must have really made him sad. I searched for another cheese stick at home, only to find it missing, but he wanted "some vegetables please" anyway.

I patted his head and sent him on his way into the big, big world again — on his own — with me at home waiting with open arms.

This growing up thing could quite possibly be harder on me than it is on him. This snails pace slow letting go seems almost more painful than if it were ripping fast like taking a band aide off.

Today I hold my littlest babe in my arms, smelling his hair, playing with his baby toes, enjoying this moment that time has allowed me.

Breeze, cool and dry, tosses hair, whips cut grass all around.

I'm alone but not lonely. I'm with Him, in praise and song. I'm with His nature.

I'm lost in a bright green wonderland of sorts. Eyes bounce from the job at hand, to the flowers still in bloom, the birds in sky, the grasshoppers jumping about.

I'm fueled. filled. full. bursty. yes, bursty.

The filling of my children next occupies my mind, and soon my arms are no longer empty.

Taking turns they steer and drive and carry me away with them.

Time alone and together…

my fuel.