This morning, 7:05
Me: climbing back into bed after getting dressed, just to cuddle with the mister because I’m feeling all shaky and vulnerable and have that heavy anxiety pit in my belly.
Mister: It’ll be okay, baby.
Me: tearing up and taking that gasping breath that comes right before a big ol’ snotstorm of crying.
Mister: probably panicking because he really cannot deal with any more tears from me, especially before he’s had his coffee. Really, it’ll be okay. Just get through today.
Me: deep breath. Okay. Tell me something good, something nice.
Mister: Your ass looks good in those jeans.
Me: So not what I was thinking, but thanks.