Tuesday, March 20

my boy




sometimes i try to remember what it was like to get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep at night.
sometimes i get tired of the nursery rhymes that i sing at least six times a day.
sometimes i get fed up with eating my dinner with one hand while breastfeeding, rice and veggies dropping on his onesies (and on the floor, the couch and my clothes).
sometimes i would like to have a spotlessly clean house again.
sometimes i long for a day of just doing anything i feel like doing.
and then i look at this face.
nothing, absolutely nothing, is as good as having him in my life.

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