I arrived home late on Sunday night to the welcoming arms of my very tired husband. He did an almost three day stint alone taking care of our little whippersnapper and all without one piece of broken furniture or trips to the ER. Huzzah!
It's always difficult for me to go to bed right away when returning home -- no matter how tired I am -- and Sunday night was no exception. Kicking around on the internet, catching up on Twitter (oh the curse of no data plan on my phone meant I was tweeting into a void all weekend unless someone DM'd me directly), and watching a bit of the Food Network made me tired enough to attempt sleep.
It's nice to sleep in one's own bed even if the accommodations provided by her, her, and her were more than luxurious. My trip to Atlanta brought a lot of peace to my mind even if it did return me to Canada with a borked sinus that seems to still be filled with quick dry cement. Winter colds: I hate thee.
But sleep I did, even if it seemed I woke up to blow my nose every forty-five minutes.
Then at 4:00 am, I heard the door to our room. I listened to the knob turn and the shuffling feet before I opened my eyes. When I finally pried open my gunked up eyes (thanks to my snot factory of a head), she was standing right in front of me, inches from my face.
The smile that lit up her face was so bright, it seemed like she had her own spot light to focus on her beautiful smile and shining eyes.
That look said it all: "Mommy's home."
We didn't exchange any words, I just drew her in under the duvet next to me (winter cold be damned) and held her close, letting her know for every ounce that she missed me, there is a more than ample weight to balance that longing on my side.
Mommy is home.