My daughter may never forgive me for the picture of her snuggled next to her newborn son, but what a breathtaking picture. I sit in a quiet room holding this baby, that my child carried in her for 9 months. He is tinier than any baby I have witnessed and my feeling seem indescribable to me right now. This invisible thread of love weaves itself through yet another generation. I am pulled by several layers in each direction now. I worry now not only for what my daughter struggles with but also this tiny baby. He lays on my chest while she sleeps and I can't even summon the courage to be tired. The world is spinning it teeters on the edge of collapse, a veritable implosion of selfishness and yet I sit here in a quiet corner rocking the future and witness a new generation of selfless mothering, giving up your wants and desires for something greater. The hand that rocks the cradle, does indeed, rule the world. How hard will it be for Gavin to navigate the injustices of life? If my love is not enough to save his mother from the cruel harsh injustice of life, can it possibly change a grandchild?
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