Today I’m tired.

Actually, it’s been several days, and no matter how quietly I pass the hours, I never seem to become revitalized. Perhaps there’s a baby sneaking every nutrient I ingest? Perhaps.

Tired.

If there were children, this would be the morning that they’d all tumble down the stairs as usual, halting suddenly at the empty kitchen. Where’s Mama? If they were children like me, they’d have an entire era of Playmobil set up long before they thought to actually go looking for Mama. (The simple trust children have that everything’s just fine with the world!)

But there are no children. Just a husband who ordered extra sleep for me this morning, who made coffee, who’s quietly at work fooling around with computer parts, and who promised to go to the office and bring back all of my work for me. It’s not just sleep, I tried to explain to him. It’s deep-down tired — like I just don’t want to do anything. And if I give into it, I’m afraid I’ll end up taking the next ten weeks off from life. That’s how tired I feel!

Then you’ll take ten weeks off, and I’ll pull your weight, he says.

I just smile. Maybe not ten weeks, but just today? If today I can just go slow, eat for two, and stare at the misty rain now and again, I might just start to feel better.

Ahhh.