One More Sleep

 Right now, life is measured in strange little units. Days blur together, patience runs thin, and everything feels louder when the house is missing two voices that belong in it.

Only one more sleep until Miller and Landon are home from visiting family in Arkansas. I hate them being gone. I know they’re safe. I know they’re having fun. But the house feels off without them, like a song missing a verse. Their rooms feel too quiet. Their messes feel oddly sentimental. Even the chaos feels incomplete.

Being injured has forced me into a version of life I didn’t sign up for. Depending on other people for basic things chips away at me in ways I didn’t expect. I don’t like asking. I don’t like waiting. I don’t like feeling stuck while the world keeps moving just out of reach. Some days I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind one “Can you grab that for me?” at a time.

My husband is trying. And honestly, he’s doing pretty good. He’s kept us all alive, which feels like the bare minimum but also somehow a miracle. Meals happen. Kids are fed. The house hasn’t collapsed in on itself. Laundry, however, has declared itself an independent nation. It’s everywhere. Growing. Breathing. Watching us.

I miss walking without thinking about it. I miss carrying things. I miss moving through my own house without planning every step like a chess match. I miss being capable in ways I used to take for granted.

I can’t wait to walk again. When that day comes, I swear I’m putting myself in a bubble. No rushing. No overdoing it. No ignoring my limits like they’re suggestions instead of warnings. Just me, moving freely, appreciating every step like it’s brand new.

Life right now is messy and uncomfortable and unfinished. But it’s also full of love, effort, and people doing the best they can with what they’ve got.

One more sleep.
Then all of my kids are under one roof again!
And the house can breathe again.