Sometimes a sick day is okay. A not-too-terrible sick day that slows everything down because you can’t keep pace. A day to notice the big puffy white clouds. A days you can’t check everything off the list. Chicken soup steaming the kitchen windows. Routine off. There’s a moment in the evening when we just end up sitting on the kitchen floor. My daughter plops in my lap and we sway back and forth and I smell her hair and kiss her head and she giggles and smiles, loves to be held, to be hugged. Cuddle bug. I realized I haven’t been inside a quiet moment with her like that over the last two weeks. Too long.
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