I considered pouring myself a glass of rosé around 7:15 this evening. I chose a shower instead. It’s been a long road to get to this point – quiet house, two free hands – and I still don’t know how long it will last. Since we got home from our Midwestern adventure, David and I have spent our nights (and my days) juggling our sick baby’s needs with our own, rocking him for long stretches throughout the night. For the first time in a while, Boo is now actually sleeping quietly in his own bed while I breathe deeply and type. David is at a friend’s wedding. I wish I were there, too. It was supposed to be a night out together, in pretty clothes. We always hold hands a little tighter and look at each other a little longer when we watch friends get married. We reminisce about our own wedding, and our own style of love which isn’t hugely unique, but lovely nonetheless. As sad as I am to miss this night out, though, I wouldn’t trade rocking my poor, little, sick baby for anything. I just got this feeling that it is what I was supposed to be doing tonight.
Anyway, I’m hoping that we’ve turned a corner with Boo. We kindly ask the antibiotics to do their trick. Maybe David can sneak a piece of cake home to me; we can hold hands while I eat.