Well, Sunday night. (I am writing this on Monday.) I dreamt that it was early December and I had been given a month to live. And my last days were wrapped up in thoughts of leaving messages for my children to remember me by, trying to figure out how to ensure I had one last Christmas without spoiling Santa for the kids, and saying goodbye to my loved ones. It was so realistic that I woke up utterly disoriented that it was in fact February.
Yesterday was not a good day. I am sick and the kids don’t feel 100%, and they were alternately clingy and ornery as hell as a result. Yesterday I yelled a lot. Yesterday they yelled back. We didn’t go to bed mad, but we weren’t happy either.
Today they woke when I did, at half past 4. We snuggled for a long while before getting up. And now that Anya is in school, I am holding my sleeping boy and watching Bates Motel instead of doing something productive.
To hell with being productive. I almost died last night. And my one big regret is that I didn’t hold Kai every chance I got.
I can be productive tomorrow.