It's Late

It's late and out 10 month old daughter would rather stand at her bed and scream than to simply lay down and rest. She can't breathe well as she has a bit of a cold. She is waiting for my hand.

You see, in times like this she has gotten used to my hand rubbing her back. She has a cold and can't breathe well and she is to young for meds. She wants to be comforted back to sleep. Part of me is afraid of spoiling her, and there are plenty of books out thereto support this fear. But there is another part of me that wants to show her that she will never outgrow the need to be comforted back to sleep. I'm not sure we really ever get to old for the comforting hand of Father.

Think about it. Afton is 10 months old, which is about 1/50 of my age. By comparison if I live to be 100 I would only be 1/600 of the age of the earth, assuming a young earth theory. And of course Father is a lot older than that. So when he looks down on me now with my hand on Afton's back he sees two people who are really about the same age. My hand on her back. His on mine. I won't outgrow this ... Not sure I want to.