Both Esther and Isla were born on a Wednesday.
We're excited. I'm tired. I hate to say that. I've felt flat and lifeless for the past two weeks.
Apathy. Ennui. Malaise. Lethargy. You name it. I feel it. Perhaps I'm letting my guard down too soon. When you are running a marathon and you realize you've passed the 25th mile, I'm willing to bet that last 1.whatever mile is excrutiating. Not that I've ever run further than 10 miles at one time and that was only once.
Or it might have something to do with the fact that we've had two back-to-back spring breaks. Did I mention our teachers went on strike, for six days, the week before Spring Break started?
Or I might be a little sick. My body feels like it's fighting something. Anyway, that isn't what I meant to write about. I'm only writing to say, dear readers, this is really happening. My husband, the father of my children, Daddy of all time, object of our affection, focus of our devout adoration, that man who has been so desperately, so fiercely, so achingly missed, is coming home.