I never thought I'd say this, but I wish it were still Monday. And its Wednesday. And Lent is over tomorrow. But I wish it were Monday.
Monday, my baby girl didn't cry when I had to buckle her into her carseat. She laughed and "talked" at me and when she found both of her ears for the first time, she made me laugh. And me laughing made her laugh. When we got home, we walked around the driveway through some puddles, and it was fun and good. When we came inside, I sat in front of the couch (because couches are for leaning against and nothing more, no?) and she would play and then she'd forcibly crawl into my lap. She'd take my face with both of her chubby, chubby hands, or she'd lean her forehead against mine and give me her grumpy face. Grumpy face doesn't end until Mama gives grumpy face right back, and then you both get to smile. And then she climbed off and played some more, and we repeated. Eventually, my little meatball got tired, I fed her, bathed her, still no tears, smooches goodnight, and bed. At 5:20 PM.
Best. Day. Ever.
I loved Monday.
Today is Wednesday. Today was tears at nearly everything. Pushing her cart was fun, until it wasn't and then it was tear-inducing. Eating was fun until crying. Favorite toys eventually brought fussiness and books were no good and RG hung up on her grandMa twice.
Today was not Monday. I had a hard time not wishing that today was still Monday. Actually, I did wish today was still Monday. And because I kept wishing it was something different, I think I made a difficult day seem even worse somehow.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow is going to be Thursday. I want to love Thursday for what it is, even if its a "everyone is going to live to see Friday but I promise nothing else" kind of Thursday. Those can be okay, too. Perhaps, without the weight of the expectation of living up to a fabulous Monday, perhaps Thursday will be good in its own right. Every day will not be Monday, but every day ins't Wednesday, either.