It's the magic time. Late afternoon. Filled up and played out, our six-month-old is down for a nap. It's my writing time. Sometimes it's just a few minutes. Sometimes it's, blessedly, a couple of hours. Sometimes I have to do dishes or laundry. Or have something to eat, because I forgot about lunch. Or didn't have time.
But mostly I write.
Or sometimes nap.
Or often, like now, grab my walking shoes and BabyBjorn because I think I hear him waking up.