Night; day

Night: 

Two nights ago, falling asleep on the floor of my study, I was full of self-pity: oh, poor me, I’m sick myself and I ache all over, and I have to sleep on the hard floor instead of in my soft and familiar bed. It really seemed I could not get comfortable. My husband had all the fluffiest pillows, and my favorite white duvet. He also had the cat.

Last night as I was drifting off on the self-same floor, I thought, this is the most glorious sensation of perfect luxury. I can’t begin to imagine what accounted for this, but there it was. The floor felt divine beneath my back. The bedding I’d dragged from the guest room now seemed to provide the perfect weight and warmth. The night air seeping through the crack in the window was like a benediction. Macaroon had migrated to my new digs and I was entwined with him spoon-style. I actually felt drunk with pleasure as I surrendered to sleep.

Either I’m very adaptable or the cat has the power to make or break my sleeping arrangements.

Day:

Nick will return to work tomorrow, but in the meantime, he stayed home from work Monday and today. He barely got out of bed yesterday, but by this afternoon, he felt well enough to get up, shower, accompany me to Montessori to learn the drill, and eat three cheeseburgers to make up for 48 hours without food. Though Charlotte’s pre-school is less than two miles away, he had no idea how to get there. I realized that I’ll envy him the privilege of picking her up starting next Wednesday. Every day at 3:00, when I enter that classroom, she breaks into the most heart-wrenching grin and rushes across the classroom to me. I’m truly happy about re-entering the work force, but nothing there could ever compete with moments like that.