Hi FB family, after reading about Wally and his current condition they NEED our prayers and encouragement. I cannot imagine the emotions mom is going through, and you can hear it in her posts about Wally.
Let’s lift them up in prayer and send them the encouragement they need to make it day by day.
I would ask that you visit Wally’s FB page (Check the comments) and give the family some encouragement.
We are praying for you Wally! Jim & Kim
I work at a pharmacy, and the schedule board says I’m on day shift. That’s the version I tell myself to get through each week, anyway. The truth is messier than that.
When another tech calls out sick or the store runs short on staff, I grab whatever shifts they’ll give me because overtime is the only thing keeping formula and diapers from sliding into the “maybe next week” pile.
A baby’s bottle | Source: Pexels
My baby girl, Mia, is seven and a half months old. She’s at that perfect age where she smells like warm milk and sunshine, and the smallest smile from her can make me forget about the stack of bills sitting on top of the microwave.
Her father left the minute I told him I was pregnant.
“I’m not ready for this life,” he said, like fatherhood was a shirt that didn’t fit right. I stopped checking my phone for his texts somewhere around my second trimester.
Now it’s just me, my mom, and Mia against the world.
A baby sleeping | Source: Pexels
Mom watches her whenever I’m at work, and I tell myself that the tight feeling in my chest is gratitude instead of guilt. Because the truth is, my mother already raised her babies.
She didn’t sign up for late-night bottles and diaper changes at 61 years old, but she does it anyway without a single complaint.
We live in a small rented apartment on the second floor of an old building. The rent is manageable, but there’s no washing machine. When laundry piles up, I have to haul everything down the street to the laundromat on the corner, the one with the flickering neon sign and the permanently sticky floor.
A laundromat | Source: Pexels
That particular morning, I came home after pulling a long night shift. My eyes felt like they were full of sand, my body ached in places I didn’t know could ache, and I could barely string two thoughts together. But the second I walked through the apartment door, I noticed the laundry basket was overflowing.
I let out a long, tired sigh.
“Guess we’re going to the laundromat, sweetheart,” I whispered to Mia, who was dozing in my arms.
Mom was still asleep in her room after staying up most of the night with Mia while I worked. I didn’t want to wake her. She needed rest as much as I did.
A door | Source: Pexels
So, I bundled Mia up in her jacket, stuffed all the dirty laundry into one big canvas bag, and headed out into the early morning.
The laundromat was quiet when we arrived, just the steady hum of machines and the sharp, clean smell of detergent hanging in the air. There was only one other person there, a woman in her 50s, who was pulling clothes from one of the dryers. She looked up when we walked in and smiled warmly.
“What a beautiful girl you have,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
A close-up shot of an older woman’s eyes | Source: Pexels
“Thank you,” I said and smiled back.
She gathered her basket and left, and then it was just me and Mia in that fluorescent-lit room. I loaded all our clothes into one washing machine.
We don’t have much, so everything goes in together: Mia’s onesies, my work shirts, towels, and even her favorite blanket with the little elephants on it. I fed quarters into the slot, pressed the start button, and sat down on one of the plastic chairs lined up against the wall.
Mia started fussing a little bit, making those small sounds that meant she was getting uncomfortable.
A woman holding her baby | Source: Pexels
I rocked her gently, swaying back and forth until her eyes fluttered closed again. The problem was, I didn’t have anything clean to cover her with.
So, I grabbed the thin receiving blanket from the top of the dirty laundry pile, shook it out as best I could, and wrapped it around her tiny body.
She settled against my chest, warm and soft, her breath coming in those sweet little puffs against my collarbone. My head felt impossibly heavy.
I leaned back against the folding table behind me, telling myself I’d just rest my eyes for a second. Just one second.
And then… the world slipped away.
A woman with her eyes closed | Source: Pexels
When I opened my eyes again, panic shot through my chest like electricity. The sun was higher now, bright light streaming through the laundromat windows at a sharper angle than before. I blinked hard, trying to remember where I was and how long I’d been asleep.
Mia was still safe in my arms, her little face peaceful and relaxed. But something felt different.
The washing machines had stopped running. The room was silent except for the buzz of the overhead lights. And right next to me, spread out on the folding table, was my laundry. All of it. Folded perfectly.
A stack of folded clothes | Source: Pexels
For a long moment, I couldn’t even move. I just stared at the neat stacks of clothing. My work shirts folded into crisp squares. Mia’s tiny onesies arranged by color. Our towels stacked like they’d come from a department store display.
Someone had done this while I slept.
My first thought was fear. What if someone had taken something? What if they’d touched Mia?
But everything was there, and she was fine, still sleeping soundly against me.
Then I noticed the washing machine I’d used. It wasn’t empty like it should have been. The door was closed, and through the glass, I could see it was full. But not with dirty clothes.
Washing machines in a laundromat | Source: Pexels
I stood up slowly, my legs shaky, and walked over to it. I pulled the door open, and what I saw inside made my heart skip a beat.
There was a whole pack of diapers, baby wipes, two cans of formula, a stuffed elephant with floppy ears, and a soft fleece blanket. On top of everything was a folded piece of paper.
My hands were trembling as I picked it up and unfolded it.
“For you and your little girl. — S.”
I just stood there, holding that note, staring at the simple words written in neat handwriting.