I just got off the phone with Auntie Keri, it's 11:17am, and I have two hours of taking calls to get through before my lunch break. I still feel guilty that I left you crying as Daddy and I left this morning and I'd kill for a sloppy kiss and death-grip-around-the-neck kind of hug from you right about now.
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Now, it's 6:33pm and I'm trying desperately to get dinner on the table before 7:00. You are hanging on to my leg, wanting to help, or be held, or play with the knife, or climb into the oven and all I want is some goddamn space so we can get through the must do's and get you to bed at a decent hour. And let me tell you, bedtime is it's own monumental struggle. You fight it tooth and nail as if to say "Uh, guys, didn't we just get home, I thought we were gonna hang out?! No Fair!"
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My own bedtime is approaching and like always I get weepy that soon I'll be waking up and scramble to get to work on time, just to sit there and wish I was somewhere else all over again. I peek in on you for the 3rd time tonight and wish I could crawl into the crib with you...but instead I just straighten your pony blanket and touch your cheek.
This is how it goes most weekdays. When you're pushing, I'm pulling. When I kneel down for a hug, you run right past.
I want to apologize, Bubs...for this. For today especially. You were sick and Mama was cranky. And in typical fashion, I didn't put the puzzle pieces together until it was too late.
I love you.