Spit-up in my Hair

Right now my house is cluttered with school papers and textbooks, dishes are scattered across the counter and fill up my kitchen sink, the heater is on for the millionth time because it's a whopping 14 degrees outside, and my Christmas tree (although packed up and in its box) is still not put away.  

But tonight my hair smells like spit-up. Baby blankets litter my living room floor. Clean baby bottles lay on a towel by the kitchen sink. And my sweet baby boy lies on his play gym making cooing sounds and sometimes hitting the little toys that hang above his head. 

It's nights like tonight when I count my blessings. The blessing that my heater works, that I can earn a great education at a wonderful college, that I have dishes to wash, and that I have my dream come true right by me in my living room: a healthy, strong, chunky, baby boy. 

And for the reminder from the spit-up in my hair. that my arms are no longer empty, my heart is healing, and God is good.