on fumes

I've been trying to write a poem for you about how we painted our new place last weekend, but I haven't been able to finish it yet. Moving makes you tired, emotional, sensitive, and opinionated, and that, dear readers, is a recipe for implosion.

The babe is no exception to that recipe. He's been more sensitive and has needed more devoted time and attention. What's getting me through this week is knowing that this time next week I'll be on the downward slope.

Two more days until the official moving day. Two more days.


Denise Wood said...

You can do it!

A Mitton said...

C has got me writing a poem a day again. A few have been decent.

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