I love you. Right now, sitting here listening to my kids play, all I want to do is crawl back in and snuggle down. And ever since you got those new sheets, those glorious, nice sheets, for Christmas, things are better than ever.
I know we've gone through some rough patches. It still makes me want to cry remembering how distant we were from each other with both of the babies. I spent most of my time on the couch and in the rocking chair. But you know that I always wanted to be with you, right? When I was sobbing in the middle of the night in the rocking chair because we hadn't spent quality time together in weeks, just the idea of you in there without me was torture.
Sometimes I don't give you the attention I know you deserve. I mean, come on, when was the last time I made you? It's not that I don't want you to look nice, but when you're all done up like that you feel so, I don't know, inaccessible. I like you just the way you are--you don't need to worry about fancy bedspreads and throw pillows. You're beautiful.
And you inspire me, you know that? I didn't have a single new idea until last week, dozing in your warm embrace during naptime. And then, BAM, there was Paranormalcy! I know right now it seems like my writing is coming between us. I don't sleep as much, I'm coming in later and later, and naptime is completely gone. But I think we both know I'm happier when I'm writing, and that by the time I finally crawl to bed I'm even more grateful and in love than I would be if I was just heading in early out of boredom.
So please don't feel bad. Manuscripts will come and go, but you'll always be an obsession.
Can't wait to see you again--