I spend a lot of time obsessing over the bluebirds that nest in a box in our back yard, something you know a bit about if you are a regular here at The Daily Grace. But this Spring I haven’t been around to keep as close an eye on this precious couple (and their offspring) as I’d like. 

We knew there were eggs, and we hoped there were healthy babies, and we believed some had fledged but we just didn’t know for sure.

Then a couple of weeks ago I spotted this cuteness at the new feeder I’ve placed just outside my studio window. It holds a magical cone of seed and dried worms all of birddom now fusses over.

hello baby blue!

This sweet little munchkin, who I figure is four…maybe five weeks old, is sitting an inch from a full-on mealworm feast. But he refuses to reach his little beak through the bars to grab one. Instead he sits and squawks and demands to be fed.

Mama’s having none of it.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

She flies in, eats in front of the youngster, then flies away.

(Which results in an even louder ruckus from the little one.)

Then in comes Papa who does his best to ignore but finally can’t take anymore and pops worm after worm in the mouth of the babe.

okay

OKAY!

It captivated me, this bluebird drama, as I stood back and considered how much the scene resembles my own years-ago baby mothering and that of so many friends in the throes of such today. Parenting is hard. There are so many ways to get it wrong. And there are so few to get it right.

Love well, I’d think, and then I’d pace and worry. Love well, I still think now, and that will be enough.

Oh yes.

And yet the question remains. 

Does love fly off?

Or feed?

XXOO

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