I am folding laundry. I am trying to fold laundry. Wallace is not content, and so the mountain of clothes on our bed is not shrinking. Sometimes he likes to be on his tummy. I lay him down in front of me and attempt to fold a few more shirts, but his eyes look so beautiful with the light coming in though our big windows that I grab my camera instead. The pile of clothing is in the background. I push it all off the bed onto the floor, and I manage to capture our baby boy during moment of peace — quite literally a moment — between sad faces. He then buries his head in the blanket and starts to cry. I pick him up, I nurse him, and I wrap him up on my chest. I scoop up the laundry from the floor and begin folding again.