A Day in the Life of Emily Jones

I wrote the following short (except it's kind of long) story in response to all those of you who have been asking what I do all day. I started it a few months ago, right after John was born. Life has changed quite a bit since then, but I think it's still a good window into life as a mother, especially a new mother. And best of all...it's true.



A Day in the Life of Emily Jones

12:00 am


I’m walking around the kids’ room in sweat pants and the shirt I wore yesterday (and maybe the day before too. I can’t remember). Baby John is slung over one shoulder, wide awake. He has been since around 10pm, right when I was getting ready to go to bed. I want us both to be sleeping, and he wants us both to be exploring the house. I decide it’s a contest of wills, and holding him up to my face I put on my best and most intimidating game day look. He stares past me, comfortably bored. Apparently he’s not aware that this is a contest. I grunt and sling him back over my shoulder, letting my thoughts wander.

Lines appear between my eyebrows as I remember a conversation from a few hours before.

“I haven’t talked to you in so long! How are you? What are you up to? Do you have a job?” my friend asks. “Are you in school?”

“Um...nope. I’m... ummmm...taking care of my kids.”

“Oh, good for you.” Long pause. “So, what do you do all day?”

“Uh....” Another long pause.

I get this question ALL the time and I still haven’t come up with a good answer. And that makes me mad. I want to defend myself. “Hey! I’m busy. Lay off!” I want to say. But then I realize that no one is being critical. It’s an honest question. An honest question that I don’t know how to answer.

12:20 am

I am suddenly hit with a stroke of brilliance. I’m going to write down what I do over a 24 hour span. The next time someone asks me what I do all day I’ll smile and ask for their e-mail address. This is the best idea ever! At least I think so, but maybe that’s just because it’s the middle of the night. So, when do I start? At what hour does the day begin? When I became a mom time changed, and waking up stopped meaning the start of a new day. For a mom life is one continuous blur, mostly lucid with some delirium mixed it. I guess 12:20 is as good a time to start as any.

12:23 am

I am distracted by something foul smelling and start to wander around the room looking for the culprit. There are about a dozen dirty diapers in the trash can by the changing table. I really have been meaning to take those out. As I walk by the closet I smell something else. I peek in and see a giant pile of laundry. I wonder how many diaper blow outs and spoiled milk spit ups and dropped lunches it took to create such a pile. It’s more smelly evidence, but there’s something else. Just through the doorway I see the laundry machine and realize that I never moved the last load from the washer to the dryer. That was two days ago! Oops. I open the lid to the washing machine. Yep. That’s the mystery smell. I put in more detergent and reach to turn the knob to heavy wash. It’s already there. I wonder if I’ve ever used any other setting. I only put clothes in the hamper when they are seriously dirty, and streaks of snot on my shoulders don’t count. I head back into the bedroom and cradle John in my arms. His eyes are starting to close, but so are mine. My game day face is back, and I am determined to outlast him.

12:49 am

SMACK! My face smashes against something very hard, jerking me back into consciousness. I’m not sure what just happened, but all I care about is making sure John is OK. I clutch the little bundle in my arms. He scrunches up his forehead a little then drifts peacefully back to sleep. Did that really happen? Did I just hit my face on a wall? I must have fallen asleep while walking. I’m not sure how John was spared, so I turn to my usual explanation...he has one heck of a guardian angel...also known as Dada. Still a little shaken I go upstairs to wake up my mom. I want to be more independent. I want to prove that I can do this myself. But I know I’m just being prideful, and I’m not willing to risk another run in with the wall. What if Dada John is busy next time and baby John takes the hit before my face? My sweet mom takes the unsuspecting little dreamer, like she does almost every night when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, and sends me to bed.

4:15 am

I am awakened by the almost silent rustling of cotton pajamas rubbing on cotton crib sheets in the other room. I refuse to open my eyes. Maybe he’ll go back to sleep. He starts to whimper, and I know I’m out of luck. I’m actually feeling pretty good though. Three and a half hours...that ain’t bad! Back to the rocker glider.

4:28 am

Full, fat, and happy John goes back to sleep, and so do I! Maybe my luck hasn’t run out after all.

4:33 am

Lizzie’s arm flops across my face. What was I saying about my luck? You didn’t know that Lizzie was asleep in my bed this whole time did you? At 21 months she is still sleeping with me. I am the poster child for what the baby whisperer calls accidental parenting, and no...that’s not a compliment. Lizzie grabs my bangs and drags my head toward her face. With her eyes still closed she places her hands on my cheeks and presses my face to her face, tilting my head at various angles until she has me positioned just how she wants me. She leaves one hand on my cheek. The other slides around my neck. My not-yet-two-year-old daughter has me in a surprisingly tight and very uncomfortable headlock, and how do I respond?... My heart melts. I am in pain but try not to move until her breathing slows and she stops sucking on her binky. (Yes, 21 months and she still has a binky...accidental parenting...thank you very much Tracy Hogg.) When I think she’s asleep I try to slip my head out of the vice grip. Suddenly she is sucking furiously on the binky and flexing her little arm muscles, refusing to release me. I try again after a few minutes. This time is a success.

5:30 am

I am awakened by the sound of crying from the other room.

“Hungry again? I just fed you!” I groan as I flop out of bed and hurry to the crib. I hope the cries won’t wake Lizzie quite yet. I haven’t been in the rocker glider for more than 5 minutes when I hear Lizzie start to protest. She has discovered my absence and comes looking for me.

“Oh shoot!” I mutter under my breath.

“Oh shoot!” Lizzie mimics as she stumbles into the room, her smile hidden behind her binky and her baby doll dragging by her side. She’s still a little groggy, but there’s no chance of her going back to sleep now. We’re up for the day. Lizzie plops down in the little rocking chair next to me. I picked it up at a thrift store for $8 over a year ago and have been meaning to repaint it ever since. She lifts up her shirt and sticks her baby doll’s face near her belly button. “Baby eat now,” she tells me. We sit, nursing our babies together for a few seconds, but Lizzie quickly loses interest in her baby and thinks it’s time for me to stop paying so much attention to mine too. She tosses her baby on the floor and comes to investigate baby John’s progress. She puts a hand on his forehead and tries to push him away from me. “OK baby...all done,” she says cheerfully. When I tell her she needs to let the baby finish, that dreaded bottom lip pops out threatening the oncoming dramatization of this terrible injustice. Quick! I need a distraction! Before the sobs can begin I invite her to go pick out a book so I can read to her. Her lip recedes reluctantly as she considers the offer.

She tromps off and returns with a giant dog stuffed animal and my favorite board book, But Not The Hippopotamus by Sandra Boynton. She tries to climb on my lap. I don’t want her to feel replaced, so I make room for the giant dog and the insistent little toddler alongside the nursing baby. I think to myself, “I need a bigger lap,” and then remember that my thighs are big enough and retract the thought. Lizzie holds the book. I can’t actually see the words, but I don’t need to. I have this one memorized. Honestly, I have most of our board books memorized.

5:44 am

John finishes eating. I ask Lizzie if she wants to go running with me. She says yes and goes to look for her shoes. I tell her she doesn’t need her shoes, hoping that if she isn’t wearing shoes she’ll actually stay in the stroller for once. I put John in his crib and tell Lizzie I need to change my clothes. (I’m still wearing that same shirt from yesterday.) She wants to play in the crib with John while I get dressed. I grab my clothes and tennis shoes out of the other room and watch her boss little John around while I change. She tries to teach him how to fold his arms so they can say their prayers. When John moves she says, “No, no, no baby,” and crosses his arms for him again.

6:12 am

I am not a runner. I hate to run, but I think runners are cool so I like to pretend. I have two other reasons for running this morning. First, my friend gave me the most amazing double jogger ever invented. It's a phil&teds sport, but I call it “The Rolls” (short for Rolls Royce). The fact that I own it inspires me to be a phil&teds sport kind of mom....the kind of mom that goes jogging. My second reason for this unusual start to my day is the upcoming Jones family reunion. We are all running a 5K because my in-laws think that kind of thing is fun. They are the cool running type. So, in summery I am running this morning because runners are cool, my stroller is cool, and my in-laws are cool. I am not so cool, so I am taking up running.

We are almost to the end of the block and I already have a cramp. Lizzie is complaining. She wants to push the stroller. She tries to climb out and gets tangled in the straps. She starts to throw a fit. Ugh...so much for looking cool. At least John is asleep. I think of the upcoming 5K and seriously consider faking an injury. Then I laugh at myself for actually entertaining such a pathetic thought...but I am still entertaining it despite its patheticness.
6:38 am

The stroller is safely back in the trunk and I stagger back inside with a kid in each arm. John is still asleep. It's surprising how long it takes to do things like put away a stroller when you don't have use of your arms.

Lizzie pipes up. “I hungry. Pizza Party!”

It's not a bad idea. Ditch the jogging for a pizza party breakfast. Unfortunately, we are fresh out of pizza. I suggest pancakes. She'd rather have pizza but she'll settle for pancakes. I set her on the counter and let her help me. I crack the eggs with one hand (which makes me feel like super mom) while she mixes the batter.
6:53 am

Breakfast is served. Lizzie refuses to fold her arms for prayer. Grandpa tells her it will make Heavenly Father sad if she doesn’t. Not effective. I reconsider my opinion on forcing good prayer behavior and decide to tell her she can fold her arms or go to time out. She folds her arms, bows her head, and starts whispering jibberish in very somber tones.
7:36 am

I know breakfast is over when most of the pancakes appear to be gone, but we are all quite aware that they have really just been moved to the floor. With John flopped over one arm...still sleeping, I help my mom clear off the table and do the dishes. Thankfully Lizzie is distracted by the high heels I left in the living room. She puts them on and clops loudly around the hardwood floors. My mom and I discuss our plans for the day. The kids and I are meeting my cousin Chad Miller, his wife Luanne, his daughter Brook (from his last marriage), and their daughter Emma at the Safari Park at 11. My mom plans to get ready for the singles ward crowd coming over tonight for the weekly dinner and scripture study. Since I already made the main dish and dessert last night she agrees to go to the park with us. We plan to leave at 9:15.

7:45 am

I realize that I haven't heard the clopping of high heels in a few minutes and panic. Living room? No. Den? No. Outside? No. Grandma's bathroom....ding ding ding! Feeling very beautiful in her new shoes, Lizzie had shut herself in the bathroom and set out to complete the look. When I open the door she jumps. She knows she's guilty but quickly plays it off. She bats her lashes and with a very pleased grin on her face says, “Eyes…Pretty!” Black mascara is smeared all over her eye lashes...and everything else on one side of her face. At least she isn't in pain. I try to clean off the mascara without getting it in her eyes and then suggest a bath. She's a good sport about the face wash, but a bath is asking way too much. I have to pull out the big guns. I suggest a bubble bath. Almost good enough, but not quite. I throw in an offer to turn her bubble bath green (with food coloring). Sold! I drag the baby swing into the bathroom and set down baby John...still sleeping...while I wash two days worth of stickiness and grime off of Lizzie. I wonder if the water would turn brown if it weren't disguised by green bubbles.

“Double, double toil and trouble. Fires burn and cauldrons bubble. Cool it with a baboon's tongue. Now the spell is firm and good.” I cackle like a witch. I don't think I got the words quite right, but Lizzie thinks I'm funny.

8:12 am

Lizzie is bathed and dressed and little man is...yep...still sleeping. Amazing! I decide it's my moment to shower. I turn on Veggie Tales for Lizzie. She's immediately transfixed. Then I put John in a swing just outside the shower door, get undressed, and turn on the water. Right as I hop in the shower John decides to wake up...of course. He's hungry and I'm soaking wet. I leave the shower door slid half way open and play peek-a-boo between rinses, trying to keep him entertained for a few more minutes. He smiles as I poke my head out the shower door and lean in close to his face, dripping water all over him.

8:29 am

I run to the bedroom, leaving wet footprints on the carpet, and throw on some clothes as fast as I can before John runs out of patience. Just great! All my nursing bras are dirty. I smell each one, pick out the least weird smelling one, and toss the rest back in the hamper. I'm only half dressed when John starts to cry, but half dressed is good enough. I run back to the bathroom, where he's starting to slide out of his swing, and whisk him off to the rocker glider to nurse. It feels good to sit down and be forced to stay there. I hear singing from the Den.

“Don't eat pigs. Don't eat bats. Don't eat beetles, flies, or gnats. Stay away from all of that. A message from the Lord.” I swore I wouldn't be one of those moms who just puts their child in front of the TV all day, but now I don't know how to survive without it. I am consoled by the fact that it's Veggie Tales and she's learning about wonderful, moral things....like not eating bugs.

I've been sitting here nursing for almost 10 minutes and am starting to feel anxious. I should be using this time better. I should have put a book within reaching distance. There is a growing list of things I'm supposed to be reading: a book about discovering the perfect career, a family book club book, a few motivational books sent to me by friends, and Stephanie Meyer's The Host which I want to read but don't want to admit that I want to read. The only book I ever actually open these days is the Book of Mormon. After John died I made a promise that I would read it every day. And I do. But lately it's been pretty pathetic...a few verses as I'm falling asleep. I start to feel guilty. I look around and see my scriptures a few feet away. I stretch one leg out as far as I can and grab the scripture case with my toes, but as I start to drag them toward me John loses his latch and milk starts to spray everywhere. I try to get him to latch back on but it looks like trying to drink out of a fire hose. We are both covered in milk before I can grab a burp cloth. He decides he's had his share of milk and isn't interested anymore. I pull my shirt back down over my sticky bra, not planning on changing clothes again. No wonder my nursing bras all smell weird.

9:00 am

I go upstairs, put the baby bath in the big tub, and fill it with water. John loves baths. He smiles as I pour a cup of warm water over his belly. “That's a sweet smile,” I coo. “You like that warm water, don't you?” Then I notice a tall stream of water shooting out of his little man parts and over the wall of the baby bath. Fortunately it goes toward the shower wall instead of toward me. “Oh, that's why you're smiling. Nice aim, and so convenient!” I praise. I remember how Lizzie always used to pee in the bath water as soon as she was wet and slippery with soap. It was such a hassle to change it out for clean water. “Yes...very convenient of you little man,” I repeat.

9:29 am

Two kids clean, dressed, and fed. I am amazing! I am also only half dressed and still dripping water from my hair. And I still have to pack the lunch and diaper bag and load up the car. And we were supposed to leave now. OK...maybe I'm not that amazing. I hand baby John off to my mom while I finish getting dressed and ready. What would I do without her?

9:45 am

I am ready...not cute, but ready. It takes me longer than 15 minutes to go from wet to cute. I guess today won't be a cute day. We are late and I still have to pack the lunch. PB and honey sandwiches, string cheese, melon, chips, and little debbie sweet rolls. I'm impressed with myself. This is way better than our last “picnic” at the safari park. We were meeting up with some friends and were running late as usual. I forgot to pack the picnic so I stopped at McDonalds on the way. Unfortunately I forgot that they don't serve happy meals until 11, so I got an order of hot cakes to take to the Safari Park for our picnic lunch. When we got there my friends offered to share the picnic food they had packed, but I assured them Lizzie loved hot cakes. It was a little embarrassing when she wouldn't touch them. Well, that wouldn't happen today...not with this gourmet lunch? I grab the lunch and stroller, throw a few extra diapers and a change of clothes for each kid into the diaper bag, and start loading it all in the car.

10:06 am

The kids are in and we are finally off for the Safari Park, scrapping a few errands for lack of time. Lizzie is asking for her binky. I forgot it but appease her with a sucker instead. John starts to cry at the first stoplight. He's like his daddy, only happy when he's on the move. Seeing that John is upset, Lizzie gets a very concerned look on her face and searches for a place to put down her sucker. She finally gives up and sets it down in her lap, smearing sticky cherry goop all over her shorts and the car seat. Then she reaches over and starts to rock the baby’s car seat while saying, “It's OK baby. It's OK baby. We go park? It's OK baby.” She doesn't notice, but I'm looking at her with a look that says, “No mother has ever loved their child as much as I love you right now.”

10:30 am

John is asleep. Lizzie, MooMoo (our name for Grandma), and I chat about all the animals we'll see at the Safari Park. Lizzie is “reading” the park guide we got last time we went to the Park, only two days ago, and pointing out her favorite animals. She can pretty much carry on the conversation by herself.

“Yak...buff (buffalo)...camel,” she says pointing at the picture of each animal. “Gaff (giraffe)...long...neck.” She stretches her neck as tall as she can. “Ostige (ostrich)...big...egg...water wings,” she says while holding an imaginary egg and then tucking her arms under her arm pits and flapping her “water wings.” (All wings became “water wings” the day MooMoo bought her Finding Nemo water wings to wear to the pool.)

As Lizzie entertains herself with the park guide I wonder aloud what Emma will be like these days. Before we left Charlottesville Emma and Lizzie used to play on a regular basis. Luanne and I would laugh at the difference in their personalities, exemplified by their swinging styles. They sat side by side in those basket swings they have at parks with the leg holes. Lizzie flung herself forward so she could see the ground, nearly falling out of her swing, her arms outstretched like she was flying. No fear. Emma on the other hand sat calmly reserved with her arms safely tucked into her little safe zone, glancing at Lizzie from time to time like she might be crazy after all.

10:45 am

Lizzie starts to complain from the back seat. She is no longer satisfied with the sucker and is again asking for her binky. As I try to distract her with a few of her favorite songs I remember how her daddy used to say that distraction was the key to parenting. We make it through The Itsy-Bitsy Spider, Book of Mormon Stories (twice because it's her favorite today), and Popcorn Popping before I decide it's time to turn it over to the experts. I turn on Ingrid Michaelson and Lizzie is pleased.

I can relate to the lyrics of the first song...“And so it goes. This soldier knows the battle of the heart isn't easily won, but it can be won.” I wonder if I'm winning yet.

The next song also strikes a cord... “Everybody, everybody wants to love. Everybody, everybody wants to be loved.” I try not to think about how lonely it's been lately and how much I want John to hold me while I fall asleep.

The third song on the CD starts to play... “They say that home is where the heart is. I guess I haven't found my home. And we keep driving around in circles, afraid to call this place our own.” Is Ingrid Michaelson watching me?

Maybe this is the story of everyone's life. I decide to stop feeling sorry for myself, but I also decide to stop listening. I glance in the rear view mirror and see that Lizzie's eyes are getting droopy. We're too close to the park to let her fall asleep so I shout emphatically, “Hey???? How about those buffs?” She jerks up and looks around for the buffalo. I promise her that we're almost there....3.2 miles left...I've been watching the mile markers for the last 15 miles, counting down to exit 180. No mile markers have ever received so much attention as the ones between our house and exit 180.

10:58 am

We pull into the Safari Park. I can't believe it. Have we ever been on time, let alone 2 minutes early? I hope that we are more punctual that Luanne for the first time in our lives, but she pulls into the lane next to us and gets into the park first. How does she always do that? I've been prepping Lizzie on names all morning, and she's been saying, “Emma, Emma, Emma” non-stop. But when I point to Emma and ask Lizzie who that is, she gets stage fright and gives me a blank stare. It doesn't matter. When you're not even two yet, knowing someone's name doesn't seem to be a prerequisite for being best buddies. Lizzie jumps out of her car seat and immediately starts to talk Emma's ear off. I am unloading John when I hear Luanne sternly scold Emma for not holding her hand while in a parking lot. Emma is still standing right next to the car, and I wonder why Luanne is so worked up. But Luanne isn’t looking at Emma. She's looking out in the middle of the parking lot where Lizzie is excitedly running around like a crazy lady. I smile and resist the urge to correct Lizzie just to save face in front of Luanne.

11:15 am

Lizzie and Emma are having a ball with the goats. Emma even follows Lizzie's lead and is willing to touch one. John is asleep in my arms. I decide to go back to the car to get the stroller for John. It will protect him from the sun. When I return I see my mom smiling as she watches Lizzie climb onto a small, green John Deer tractor parked near the pig pens (obviously for personnel use only). Luanne is telling Lizzie she's not old enough to drive (which she isn't at all convinced of).

We walk around the “safari village” and see the caged animals. The tiger seems especially interested in Lizzie. He stalks her from the other side of the fence and looks like he'd really like to eat her. She isn't intimidated. She points at him and says, “Tiger! Arrrr!” She likes the animals, but she's most interested in playing with the gravel and stopping at every hand sanitizer station in the park.

11:45 am

We head back to the cars and pull out our packed lunches. Everyone else heads to the pavilion to eat, but I stay back and feed John while sitting in the car. I consider checking my voice mail while he eats, but when I hear that my box is full again I get intimidated and decide to put it off until later.

12:30 pm

We finish eating lunch and all pack into the minivan to drive through the main part of the Safari Park, a road that winds through a huge expanse of open land. We leave the sliding doors open so the llamas, zebras, elk, deer, buffalo, ostriches, camels, watusi cattle, etc. can stick their heads in and eat out of our plastic buckets filled with animal feed. Some of the bigger animals can be intimidating, but we have a rule that no one is allowed to act scared in front of Lizzie. It’s worked wonders so far. Lizzie gets intimidated when a dog barks but has no problem when a camel snorts at her and nearly knocks her off her feet with its enormous head. Part way through the park a giant buffalo sticks its face in our car and startles Brooke, a very pretty and very teenage girl. She is terrified, so I quickly say, “Funny buffalo. Is he trying to give Brooke kisses?” Lizzie leans in and tries to kiss the buffalo.

1:45 pm

It’s been another amazing day at the SP. (That’s code for Safari Park.) Lizzie and John are lulled to sleep by the humming of the engine as we drive home.

3:00 pm

We get home and I expertly move the sleeping time bombs from the car to their beds. My mom and I only have 3 hours to clean the house and put on a meal for a crowd of somewhere around 15 young single adults.

3:12 pm

John wakes up and acts like he’s starving. I feed him and then continue to help my mom with my one free hand.

4:25 pm

Just as I’m starting to wonder if Lizzie is dead I hear a loud groan from the bedroom. “I NEEEEEEED CHOCOLATE MILK!” I smile. It’s good to know my daughter has her priorities straight.

I mix up some nesquick and head outside with a kid in each arm. We blow bubbles for a few minutes but my thoughts are elsewhere. I imagine one of the young single adults with their butt stuck to our dirty toilet seat (Ok…it’s not really that bad) and another looking disdainfully at the dirt on our entry stairs. I decide I should be cleaning. I shouldn’t stick Lizzie in front of the TV again, but I am quickly losing my resolve. I decide one more dose of veggie tales might be just what Lizzie needs in her life today. I put my plan into action, and she doesn’t seem to mind a bit.

5:42 pm

The house is somewhat clean. The dinner is almost done. I better turn off the TV before someone gets here and sees the child neglect/brain rotting in action. Lizzie isn’t happy about the screen gone black, but she cheers up when the doorbell rings and our first guest arrives. On Monday nights Lizzie exploits her captive audience and is eager to take center stage. Her energy level increases with the arrival of each new guest. Soon she is riffling through random purses for gum and cell phones, showing off her newest dance moves, and insisting on everyone’s undivided attention as she tries on someone’s enormous boots.

6:25 pm

The dinner officially begins. I slip downstairs to feed John. When I return a couple of our friends insist on holding my kids while I eat. Did I mention that I LOVE Monday nights? I spend the rest of the dinner chatting with people while my kids get passed around and spoiled with attention.

7:47 pm

Most of our guests have finished eating, and my dad begins the scripture study portion of the evening. Lizzie sits on the couch next to one of her favorite boys and opens a set of scriptures to the topical guide. The first reader opens to Exodus and begins. Lizzie quickly sees the threat and dives in for another grab at the crowd’s attention. She puts on her most sophisticated face, sits tall, and starts to babble as she runs her finger along the page in front of her. The reader tries to speak louder, but Lizzie will not be outdone. Pretty soon it’s a shouting match between the words of Moses and a toddler’s babble. To everyone’s delight, the toddler is winning.

8:04 pm

I give up on trying to keep Lizzie quiet enough for the scripture study and take the kids downstairs to read books. John is soon fast asleep. Lizzie and I read a whole shelf’s worth of books before I can hear that the scripture study is finally over.

8:40 pm

Lizzie steals a little more attention while my mom and I serve up dessert for everyone.

9:15 pm

The inevitable card game of wacky six has started around the dining room table, and Lizzie is getting very upset that no one wants to give her their cards to throw all over the room. I can see the meltdown coming. It’s definitely time for bed. I ask her if she’d like to have a slumber party with me. She takes the bait.

9:34 pm

We pull the covers over our heads and giggle with delight as our secret fortress starts to sink down around us. I tell Lizzie she’s my best friend. She says, “tank you!” We snuggle close and listen to the shrieks and stomping of the wacky sixers directly above us. We are too tired to be bothered by the ruckus. Before I know it we are both sound asleep.

9:50 pm

In my dream John is crying, but Daddy John says, “Don’t get up. I’ll take him so you can sleep.” I wonder how I got so lucky to marry this angel. Then my husband turns into my mom who is shaking me and saying, “Emily. Wake up! John is hungry.” I am a little disoriented, and mumble, “Ugh! If only angels could breastfeed!”

10:10 pm

When John finishes eating he is, of course, wide awake. I tell him stories about his dada and sing primary songs as we rock. I love this little man and am thrilled by the thought of watching him grow up. I realize that his dad loves him just as much as I do and will be silently watching from a place I only catch glimpses of when I’m asleep long enough to dream. I miss my husband. I want him to come back. I long for him to put his arm around me and snuggle my face into his chest. No one is around except my sweet baby, so I allow myself to cry.

11:00 pm

John finally falls asleep and I climb back into bed next to Lizzie. Then I realize I haven’t read my scriptures yet today. I’m too tired to go get them from the other room so I pull them up on my phone. I tell myself its better anyway because this way I can keep the lights off for Lizzie while I read…but secretly I just want to stay lying down. I make it through about half a verse before I drift off and loosen my grip on the phone. It falls, hitting me in the face. I make several more attempts at finish the verse without falling asleep, and finally give up. I quietly whisper, “I love you John Jones. I promise I’ll do better tomorrow.”