oh. those. kinds. of. days.
the kind where you burn your tongue taste-testing your husband’s morning coffee.
and middle son uses your favoritest tea towel. the one you embroidered as a young girl. while you were still living at home. dreaming of your own home. to wash the car.
and the baby eats a bowl of yogurt and frozen blueberries in your bed while you are away visiting your sick grandmother. so when you come home. and fall into said bed. you collapse on said bowl. and it hurts.
no. this wasn’t quite what i dreamed it would be…