Sunday

Sundays are the worst. It's easy to fall into a pattern of missing you. Missing you so much that it feels like there is a giant hole in my heart that will never heal.

But Sundays... They always tended to be filled with too much miscellaneous crap. Errands or studying. A lot of other stuff that doesn't matter. And the evenings were your bath. But that wasn't any fun for any of us.

I want to remember Sunday mornings. They were the best. Sunday was almost always the one day that I didn't have to set my alarm. I usually would wake up to you knocking on the blanket to crawl in between 8:30 and 9:00. Once I'm awake, there is usually no going back to sleep. But I would stay there for as long as I could just to sit there and cuddle with you. You'd purr and purr. For what felt like hours. Then you'd go to sleep. While I hugged you close to me. I loved every second. I was never mad that you woke me with your knocking. I was so happy that you would even give me a second of your time because I know the sun was probably shining onto the spot in the blankets by the window - your favorite spot for your afternoon naps. But you picked me instead.... thank you, Baby Boy.