I want to say that mornings are the hardest... but then again, it's all pretty rough. However, our morning routine was so practiced, so absolute - it feels like every motion I go through is truncated, incomplete somehow.
First off - there's no one to nag me about spending too much time in the bathroom. I can sit there, reading to my heart's content, without the gradual escalation of first hearing his heavy breathing under the doorway, followed by a soft little "wuff", and then the heavy artillery - the low whine. The "I'm a poor abandoned orphan" whine. The whine that has everyone with any heart reaching for the phone to call the ASPCA. I could actually finish a WaPo article if I wanted to... I just don't have the interest anymore.
Then there's the chair. I have full occupancy of the chair now - I don't have to contort my body to make room for a furry comma to wrap itself around my body, settling at the hip. I can count out my various morning pills in peace, no wet little nose nudging my arm, trying for a few more ear skritches. God, I miss that warmth!
And typing... I can go ahead and type at full speed, not having to deploy my arms in a contortionist's pose around a rub-starved belly shoved between me and the keyboard. I just can't see what it is I'm typing because my eyes are swollen from too many tears.
I know - this is just the first couple of days, I'll get over it, I'll move on. Well, literally, I'm moving on - we leave for Utah tomorrow. But for today... God, I miss my boy.
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