I hate when he works sundays, sundays are always breakfast day. Cuddle day. Spend time with the growing little boy in my belly day.
But one sunday a month I have to sit here and enjoy the cool breeze in our room by myself. I have to occupy my time with tiny laundry, netflix, idle conversations, showering & naps.
I’m allowed to complain all I want to. It’s hard letting those bright eyes, dark curls and that soft skin out of bed when all I want to do is feel his hands on my bump (the baby made SUCH a thump for him last night.) and talk about where we’re going to go for hashbrowns, and coffee adventures.
I’m a sad little miss.