I'm not overly sentimental. I don't save ticket stubs or birthday cards. (I do, however, have a note my hubby wrote me on the back of a Wong's Wok receipt from the mall in 1999.)
But when I sat down in bed to read the other night something hit me -- HARD -- and nearly made me cry.
My hubby had moved our bedroom furniture around.
It had come on the suggestion of the realtor we met with some time ago...she thought it would make the room look bigger.
But our room is now set up exactly as it was on the day we brought our firstborn son home from the hospital.
I vivdly remember 21+ hours of hard labor in the hospital. I can recall clearly how relieved I was to have the doc finally suggest a C-section at 3 am. I tried not to sound like I thought it was the best idea anyone had ever had. (Though clearly, it was.)
I remember sitting in that hospital, watching crap TV for four days - infomericals and celebrity gossip shows. (Julia Roberts's twins were born the day after I had Nick. And I finally got the Magic Bullet for my birthday this year!)
Food tasted so good when they finally let me eat. I took everyone up on their offers to bring me things - my Dad brought me a custard chocolate shake from the gyro place down the street and it nearly healed me completely.
But for some reason, the thing that sticks with me the strongest was how good it felt to come home and crawl into my own bed.
It was early December, and Hubby had put clean flannel sheets on the bed and had cozy PJs ready for me. That first night home, I fed Nick, who was a good eater and sleeper right off the bat, and fell into bed where no one would wake me hourly to take my temperature.
I got four straight hours of sleep.
We'd gone from a newlywed couple to a family.
I was sleeping in MY bed.
In MY house.
No wonder that sticks in my mind as being the best sleep I've ever gotten.
The dog took a liking to the baby right away. She was protective of him from day one!