A boy and a book

See, I'm not always playing with him. I often let him do his stuff, explore, destroy towers of blocks and eat books. I think it's good for him, to build his imagination and creativity, and to learn ways to occupy himself. I sometimes think I should do more, play with him more, show him more things, push books and learning and all that. I go to a weird place of maybes (maybe if I was more something, or if he had a dad, or a sibling, or another mom). And then I catch him having a quiet moment like this morning, after another rough night during which he only slept if in my arms, and I think I may be doing something right, after all. He's safe, confident, and curious. He smiles (too much, according to passport canada) and laughs and hugs and gives kisses. That has to be what matters most, doesn't it?