Rosie giggled up at him, kicking her legs. “You’re getting good at that,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.
“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice tonight.” He secured the fresh diaper. “Though I’m still not as fast as you.”
“You’ll get there.”
Later that night, as we lay in bed, Cole rolled toward me. “Have you heard from my dad?”
I nodded.
“He texted to check how things were going.”
“Do you think…” he hesitated. “Do you think he’d come for dinner sometime? I want Rosie to know her grandfather.”
I took his hand, squeezing it gently.
“I think he’d like that very much.”
“I’m still angry with him,” Cole admitted. “But I understand him better now. And I don’t want to repeat his mistakes.”
I kissed him softly.
“That’s how cycles get broken. One diaper at a time.”
As if on cue, Rosie’s cries came through the monitor, and Cole was already sitting up. “I’ve got her!” he said, and for the first time in months, I believed him.
Sometimes love isn’t just standing by someone through thick and thin. Sometimes it’s having the courage to hold up a mirror and say: we can be better than this. We must be better than this.
Not just for ourselves, but for the tiny humans who are watching our every move, learning what love looks like through our imperfect examples. And sometimes, healing comes in the most unexpected packages… like a 2 a.m. diaper change, willingly done.
