Evan and I laughed cliches away when people would tell us that our life would change once we had children.
"What an adventure!" we'd exclaim. "So blessed to be a part of the universe in this way!" This romantic notion living outloud through the tiny cells dividing inside me... Months later I'm stretch marked and struggling to find enough energy to shower much less shave my legs. Thankfully it's winter.
Miller's up for the second time tonight and it isn't even eleven yet. I'm anticipating another long night and another equally painful morning.
I realized this week his sweet milky breath smells a little like elmer's glue. I think of brightly colored construction paper and valentine's every time I kiss his cheeks. Or every last ten seconds as he continues to yell at me.
He stops complaining and plays piano on the laptop. I forget to be annoyed that I'm missing the end of the not so funny movie I've been attempting to watch for the last four hours.
Evan's at a concert with his brother. I'm contemplating how to ask my doctor for a prescription for cocaine. Miller just blew snot on my sweater. Again.
"Tomorrow will be better." I repeat in my head.
I feel warm rhythmic breaths creep across my neck. His consonant raspberry babble has ceased.
"No," I remind myself. "Today. Today is best."
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