I told him not to buy me anything for Valentine’s this year. Just to write me a love letter. He liked the idea but his schedule was uncooperative. That was a month ago.
This morning I stumble into the bathroom pre-contact lenses and peer at an envelope that seems to have found it’s way onto the shelf next to the sink.
My head is fuzzy from nearly five days of him being driven by the deadlines of work and me parenting solo. Thursday is our goal.
On Thursday we get his head and schedule back again. We’re living for Thursday.
But today is just Tuesday.
Micah and Zoe are still asleep and Jackson’s camped out already in front of either the Power Rangers or the Lynx. I have a bath in mind. A bath before anyone else wakes up. I reach over to run the water and wonder why a piece of junk mail has made it into the bathroom.
I squint at it.
Micah has an affection for writing on scraps of paper and leaving them breadcrumb like behind him. But this isn’t from Micah.
In the dark between shower and leaving for work he made me a gift.
I stand and hold this precious piece of junk mail for a long time. I trace my finger over the familiar loops and flourishes he makes of my name.
I feel beautiful.
Unshowered, dark smudges under my eyes and those extra baby pounds stubbornly still sitting on my thighs.
Half-blind without glasses and so, so beautiful.
Reposted from the archives. Because this dance never gets old.