Be quiet, Henry. I'm trying to listen to His song.

Today's the day. In a little over an hour, I'll get a shot and take my Valium. (Yippee!) The transfer is at noon. I think I am most looking forward to being told by a doctor to simply lie in bed for the afternoon. A little like a day off, which is something I've been wanting for awhile.

Yesterday was particularly difficult. It began with Henry screaming non-stop for thirty minutes because I wanted him to walk down the stairs on his own. I've seen him do it at other people's houses, but never at our own. He likes to stand at the top of the stairs, reach his arms up and say, "Mommy down. Mommy down." I told him, "Nope. I know you can do it. Mommy is not going to pick you up." I sat next to him on the steps, trying to show him that he could either walk, bump down on his bottom or slide down on his stomach, but he just sat next to me, trying to climb into my lap. Tears were streaming down his red face. And he was screaming. Those screams where the child takes a 15 second break to catch his breathe just so he can scream all the louder. And even when we finally got down the steps, the screaming didn't stop. He threw his milk at me. His cereal at me. His plate at me. He slapped me in the face and kicked me.

So I did what any rational Mom did--took him to the doctor, in the hopes that someone would confirm that something was wrong with my child, and not with me. Apparently, the doctor said he probably had a bad headache because his nose and ears looked inflamed from allergies. Awesome. I felt terrible because here my boy has been in agony and I've been to nutty to notice. (So yeah, there is something wrong with me.)

And knowing that I couldn't handle being alone with the pickle, we went to church to once again have lunch with Auntie Ann. I just needed to be loved. And I needed someone else to love my son for me. When I walked into the church I saw our pastor. He asked me how I was doing. I said, "Not great. Henry and I are both experiencing the terrible twos at the same time." He said, "Oh, well good. That way you can relate to one another better."

Not helpful.

What I wanted to hear was that it was okay for me to take the day off from loving my son. Dang those pastors and their truth telling!

But God was ever so faithful by supplying me with friends to love me and love me well. My dear friend Shannon called to say she loved me, loved Sloan, loved Henry, loved Baby Q and that because God had called me to be a Mommy, he certainly would supply me with all I needed to complete the task.

God also gave me the opportunity to see the first Henry I loved. I went to a retirement reception for my seminary professor, Henry Simmons--one of the two men my dear boy is named for (although it is primarily for Sloan's grandpa). And as I strolled Henry into the reception, Dr. Henry looked at me and smiled. He came across the room and I was expecting him to ooh and ahh over his adorable namesake. But instead, he walked deliberately to me, cupped my face in his hands and said, "Oh, Elizabeth, it is ever so good to see you." And then he hugged me. Tight. The kind of hug where you know the other person is closing his eyes and just loving you. I melted. Because I felt with certainty that it was not just my professor and friend hugging me, but my Lord and Creator as well.

And it was with that love, that lingering hug etched in my memory, that I have been able to love my son. Able to drift through the weather that is matching my mood (seriously, I feel like I'm living in the Twilight books. Or Prague as my new friend Jenn said.). Able to come home and play with a big Tupperware bin of beans. (Thank you Ali for the idea.) Able to make it to the time when Sloan got home from his business trip. And am continuing to live in, ever so weepily, still.

I am reminded of one of the scriptures that was read at my wedding--Zephaniah 3:17. (Bet you didn't know there was a book in the bible with that name, eh?)

The LORD your God is with you,
he is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
he will quiet you with his love,
he will rejoice over you with singing."

This passage has always reminded me of a mother comforting her child. Rocking and shushing, and singing sweet lullabies. And having felt His hands on my face through the hands of a dear friend and brother, I find this a fitting passage to rest in as we attempt to bring forth Baby Q.