THOSE ARE THE LONGEST MOTHER F-ING 8 DAYS OF MY LIFE SOMETIMES.
The way I feel about my daughter is like the hot air pumping a balloon through the sky: it is fire-hot, it alternates between deafening noise and absolute quiet, and it operates on magic (for people who don't understand science. like me.) But when my little baby is sick with a nasty feverish spring cold and cannot sleep, and claws her way up my torso while crying and coughing at half-hour intervals for entire moon cycles...I get tired. And worn out. And in the morning, as the sun rises again, as my coffee brews and I put on make-up because I need to remember that I am, indeed, human...
WE MISS DADDY.
But hey: Sam Horney got home tonight. He walked through our door with a smile and some left-over pretzels from his lunch box and said,
"Woah, the house looks amazing, babe!" and
"Hi Clara! Daddy missed you so much!" and
"Hi baby, thank you for taking care of things while I was gone, I'm sorry she was sick." and
"Let's all get on our bed and have a snack together. Come 'ere, Smooch, let's give mama a break. "
So anyways, as I get tipsy off a half glass of white wine (breast feeding has made me a real lightweight) and the baby is munching cheerios from her father's hand while chanting his name: We are together again. I slept for two hours last night. I have about a million hours of projects and portfolio work due for finals at school this week, but you know what?
Sam is pretty great.
Clara is a pile of love.
And God is good.
Happy Tuesday, Horney friends. Cheers :)