Most Days

Most days are good days. Most days I don't want to just hide under the covers and sleep the day away.

But Monday I did. I didn't want to get up. I hadn't really wanted to get up Sunday either, but I did so that I could go to church. Monday I got up to go work out with my neighbors (we joined a gym together last week), but once I came home I just got back in bed. I woke up, read my scriptures, and feel back asleep. It was one of those "all I did was the dishes and a load or two of laundry" days. I felt pretty mopey most of the day. I even started crying while doing the dishes. Just a little cry though. I didn't have enough thoughts in my head for it to be a real good cry.

It wasn't until Trevor came home, we had dinner, and I just crawled up on his lap with my arms around his neck that I had a really good cry.

I cried because I missed my baby. I cried because I just wanted to hold him again. I cried because I wanted to look at him. I wished I'd spent more time looking at him --his stomach, his back, his little bum. I never looked at those parts of him, because the photographer dressed him for me while I was recovering from labor and he stayed wrapped in a little blanket. I just want to hold him and see him. Tears fell on Trevor's sweater and he just held me. It feels like it will be forever until I get to hold my sweet baby again.

Luckily, a good cry and a little ice cream usually helps that depressed feeling dissipate.

Thanks Trev, I love you so much and am so grateful for your love, patience, and tenderness.