As I'm writing this, Little Lion is sleeping by my side, his arms wrapped delicately around my milk-swollen breast. The house smells deliciously of caramelized onions his dad is preparing for a french onion soup to be made tomorrow night. The house is a crazy mess, but I feel surprisingly at peace. I'm not a writer, and I haven't done much of it since high school. So my apologies to whomever stumbles across my amateur musings.

My back is aching and one hand typing is tedious. I'll try this again in the morning.