These last few weeks I’ve been a bit gloomy.
My constant efforts to take care of myself – to make sure that I don’t suddenly find myself caught in a slump – my night-outs without the kids, dinner parties, dates with my husband, hanging out with girlfriends, retail shopping, chocolate consumption… have not been as helpful as I had hoped.
Ugh. I’ve never been the high maintenance type. I hate being so hormonal.
My husband has been so completely and utterly wonderful, gentle, wise, patient and loving. The other day, he came home from work and walked through the door. I was cooking dinner in the kitchen. The moment he caught my eye, he KNEW I had a bad day. Or perhaps it was the way I was chopping up the pumpkin.
Despite my protest, he dragged me and the kids to Leederville. We ate dinner. Sat in a cafe. Sipped hot chocolates. Read the paper. The kids were so well behaved, things were so perfect that I had this sudden urge to cry.
Standing amongst the other normal people in the street, I felt like I surfaced from a train wreck. Wounded. Sore. ALIVE.
And even more in love with my husband.