I'm trapped in a sandy bed with a 2 year old, a 6 month old sleeping in a pack-n-play 3 feet from said bed. The walls here are so thin you can hear someone (who shall remain nameless) fart in the next room, even with the door shut. The lights are all off. The sleep sheep is set on "rain" mode and there are probably ten minutes left until it turns off by itself. I ate cheese quesadillas with jalepenos for supper at the bar next to the resort we are staying at after a long day of drinking tequila.
The room is spinning, but only a little. There is a mosquito buzzing in my ear. The four older kids are outside the window playing baseball with a neighbor boy.
So, NO. I don't want to have sex with you right now. I want to read my book by the light of the booklight. I want to fall asleep without a wet spot on the sheets for the sand to stick to. But I want you to love me like you did before all these babies and all this fat and insecurity took over. I know you won't leave me. I know you won't hurt me. I know you will do what you can to make life good for me and for the babies. They won't be babies long, you know. But I want it to be out there that I love you more now than I did yesterday, even if I don't feel like a little booty. I love you more than last week or last year. It just keeps growing, but I wonder if you see that.
I wonder if you realize I'm not glamorous for a reason. I wonder if you care. I see how you look at me and some days it just breaks my heart. Other days its all I can do to care. I know you love me. I just wish you'd tell me sometimes.
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