I see my sleeping child, half in silhouette, lying against a soft green and cream pillow. Her hair is in puffy pigtails, her fingers and toes peeking out from a cozy pink blanket. She snores sometimes, little gasping, snorting breaths - sometimes sighs, sometimes deep lung-fulls of life. From here I can admire the soft arch of her brow, the curve of delicate ears, the perfectness of that peeking foot. She is beautiful. Lately I feel a little frustrated. A little hypocritical. I feel loud and shrill, impatient. I feel like people are looking at me and I am trying desperately not to be seen. There are many and varied reasons for these feelings - many too personal to share, most too inconsequential form words around. I feel like I want to be better, do better, reach farther. It's just so hard. Agency is hard. Consequences, actions, reactions, choices, decisions, complications, indecision. Freedom is a wonderful and bitter thing, and the flavor that lingers now on my t