Shoulds

I should probably have him hold the bottle himself.

I should instead, go downstairs and run through the various household shoulds that steal my Saturdays and get the house ready for a busy day on a farm in Spring.

I should lie him down in his cot with his bottle and let him drink away. His bottle will be gone soon enough, independent enough on a job well done to do this all by himself.

I should hurry his brothers along. They should most probably dress themselves.

I should probably empty the dishwasher. I should certainly be folding that mountain of laundry.

I should, really.

He lies tucked as always his head lying on my left arm, staring up at his mommy, one hand scratching his head, his other hand scratching his mommy’s back.

I should probably make the beds. Or maybe I should wait ’til he finishes the bottle and falls asleep.

I know which should I’ll remember.

He sleeps in my arms, unconditionally.

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