“You sound like a psycho,” your dad said.
And I can see why telling someone you miss the smell of someone’s head could be taken that way, but it was about you guys, of course (yours in particular, Baby Girl), and your dad had to admit, he missed it too.
“You know, her little head, how it smells?”
He chuckled, after calling me a psycho, then confessed, “I do…”
We missed you guys like crazy this weekend.
Sure, we had fun.
We went to a spa!
We got massages!
We basked in this thing called a salt room!
We ate at fancy restaurants!
We drank champagne! (Well, I did, your dad the forever oenophile.)
But still, through all of this luxury…
We missed you.
(At times so much that it hurt.)
“Relax,” your dad stressed last night, reminding me to take in one last night of sleep without one ear on duty, listening for cries down the hall. “You’ll pick them up tomorrow morning and by tomorrow afternoon you’ll be pulling your hair out, so, relax.”
It’s a rainy this Monday morning and according to Nanny, you both have coughs and colds. There’s a chance you won’t be going to school tomorrow if you’re sick, which means there’s a chance of being housebound, which means there’s a chance of this being a very long week.
But still, I can’t wait to see you guys, to hold you, and yes to smell your little heads.
Call me a psycho. Call me a stalker. Call me a woman on the loose for the weekend who very much felt a piece of herself missing, which also means call me a mom.
Mother (sorry, “Psycho” reference, I set myself up for that one)