Sparks has tomorrow off of work, which means he’s on baby duty tonight, which means I’m the last one awake, which means I begin to have many strange and distressing thoughts. Like, why isn’t there any chocolate cake in the house? Or, how can I get zen enough to stop wanting things like this even though there’s no available niche for it in my life? Or, why is my bee balm ailing, my lupins and delphiniums failing to bloom, my coneflowers and cleome failing to re-seed, and the checker lilies nonexistent?
And why can’t I lug this little muffin around like a teddy bear, and take her to bed with me to squeeze and sniff and manhandle all night? She smells divine, like skillet-fried potatoes and warm milk, in the best possible way.
Go on. Sniff her little head. You know you want to.