Ivy
This morning, Noah was practically bouncing off the walls the moment his little eyes popped open—full of energy, full of questions, full of life.
It took everything in me to get him to sit still long enough to eat. After one pancake and two bites of eggs, he was wriggling in his seat, begging to go outside, like the packhouse backyard held all the magic in the world, and he was the one who was going to find it.
Now, after some bargaining like breakfast is a hostage negotiation, he’s perched on the edge of a dining room chair, with syrup smudged across one cheek like a badge of victory. His little legs swing back and forth beneath the table, thumping rhythmically against the chair legs like he’s keeping time with a song only he can hear.
I sip my coffee, the mug warm between my han
