When I wrote this, I intended the title to be sarcastic. But now come to think of it, maybe it's not. I am actually pretty happy today. Aside from the bloated, whale-like, puffy body. Tiff fell asleep in my arms tonight; she reached out for me at bedtime and she cuddled down and went to sleep. So trusting. So happy. How did I get so lucky?
How can I be thinking about pushing my luck in the motherhood department?
I'm going to go read instead. I'm going to curl up with needlework, and a book, and alternate between the two because I still can't figure out how to do both, aside from audiobooks which are great but I don't want to listen to one of those right now. I'm also going to stuff my face with garlic-flavored bagel crisps.
Yeah. That's going to make everything better. Not.
It will, however, make my evening feel better. The carbs will create a warm fuzzy feeling inside, and my fingers will be happy being productive on something pretty, and my head will swim with the images of new places and people that I haven't read about yet. I heard from the Boy today. He is continuing to be well. I miss him more than ever. There are just too many miles between us; even so it feels like there's not even a wall separating us when I hear from him.
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