Their little hands and feet, that pack a surprisingly large punch. The tiny socks and shirts that multiply to fill laundry baskets. Their tiny lungs that produce ear drum bursting screams.

My single voice, the simple meals that I prepare, the picking up of dozens of tiny toys. The coupon used, left overs consumed, all the little things that keep us afloat. Sometimes I wish I could be a child again. I see the world as simple, loving, magical instead of the heavy weight that my shoulders carry. I feel too small to carry the weight.

Because I am. I am still small, like a child. But if I let him, my Father will do the heavy lifting and make my burden lighter. So here’s to being small.