I love my husband. Deeply and truly with a love that only a long and hard-fought marriage could produce, however in all honestly when he said he'd be gone a better part of a week I knew the kids and I would miss him but I also wondered how much I'd miss getting up grumpy because he'd woken up the baby again or annoyed because he's not
I miss him.
Deep in my guts and bones,
I feel like I am physically grieving the loss of his presence.
He can not come home soon enough.
It's not just the extra pair of hands or another adult in the room that I miss. It's just him. I want him to be home. He's not and I miss him.
I miss watching the clock waiting for him to make his way home. I miss him falling asleep on the couch. I miss the smell of his coffee. I miss the sound of the news he likes to watch after the kids go to bed. I am really missing the sound of his voice.
So I made cinnamon rolls.