It just occurred to me that Sunday is Mother's Day. I mean, I knew that, but when I think of Mother's Day, I think of MY mother and it didn't really hit me until today that Sunday is now officially my day too. And I'm all, "Waaa-haa, I'm a mother whose mog is with his daddy this weekend and not with her." It is absolutely excruciating to hand him off to Eli and know that I won't be the one to tuck him into bed tonight or tomorrow night. Won't sing "Daisy, Daisy" to him, and won't hear him whisper "Night, night, Momma" as he closes his eyes. Won't hear him lying in his crib talking to Monkey Bob for half an hour before he actually falls asleep.
I haven't posted pictures here for awhile, so to compound the sadness, let's all just take a look at the one I'm missing. (Well, truth be told, I'm missing the BIG one as well, but that's a whole other story.)
Giving the Backyardigans his careful consideration.
Kicking back in approval of the Backyardigans.
Giving a stick his careful consideration.
Throwing stick, after careful consideration. (He's a very deliberate two-yr-old, that one.)
Knucklehead McGee.
And if you want to read a few happier, wittier blogs, full of much more professional and lovely photos, full of stories about hard times and new babies and families coming TOGETHER rather than being torn asunder, then go here: Pacing the Panic Room
or here: Dooce
or even here (if you want to see some scrapbooking goodness to boot): Ali Edwards
But for god's sake, stay away from me.
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