My husband and Raccoon left early this morning for church and some boy time afterwards. When I saw my little man go out the door without a backward glance, after putting on cologne like a teenager, I almost cried. He was so confident, heading off into the world with his daddy. He gave the baby a good-bye kiss and said, "Don't cry, Robin, I have to go to work, but I'll be back."
Around noon, my husband called me, concerned. "Did you get any sleep? Are you both okay?" At first, his worry seemed a little strange to me. It had only been a few hours with a baby who sleeps well, nurses quickly, and barely cries. I got this.
Then I remembered that I didn't spend a full day alone with Raccoon until he was 7 months old. No kidding. He was that intense. I often couldn't even find time to eat with him, forget sleeping, which he didn't do much of anyway. My husband would frequently come home from work and find me in tears, exhausted.
Robin girl, we love you and your peaceful spirit. I love you too, Raccoon, my grown-up little boy.
And honey, hey, thanks for calling.
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