A week alone in a hotel room sucks.
Sure, the first day or two it's great. Someone cleans up and you can eat and watch TV in bed. I don't get that at home.
I miss babycakes and the way she smells. I am so bad on the phone that I think it's best I don't even call.
When we're together we can easily talk about nothing. Or sometimes we don't. We read each other's minds. And laugh. And sleep. And eat.
And that other thing.
Can't wait to get home on Sunday.