I spent the night in Durham with my parents for a dear friends 50th birthday celebration. Matt (my husband) was unable to come, as work had him tied up in Baltimore. After I got home (around midnight), my Dad was waiting up for me, wanting to just share some conversation with me. We talked for almost an hour, and bleary eyed, he went up to bed around 1am. I couldn't sleep, so much again on my mind, and mostly really missing Matt so much. Just as I drifted off, I heard a sound coming from the hall. Eli was in the bathroom, throwing up. "Good job Eli!, for making it to the toilet!". I cried. "Thanks, but I missed the first one." he replied weakly. With sandpaper eyes, quicksand feet, rocks in my stomach, I peered around the bed hoping for the best, and I saw the worst. A large heaping pile of you know what. I gasped. I knew darn well what lay ahead. I wasn't angry anymore, just tired, but again, my heart went out to my baby of 9 years. I did the duty, and steeled myself for another sleepless night. And it was just that. Stretching in the morning while drinking coffee with my Mom, I enjoyed a bit of body release. I knew Matt was coming home today, and although he would be home for less than a full day, he would be a sight for sore eyes.
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