There's no denying that it's hit me this time. I'm exhausted at 3 pm, and wide awake at 4 am.
This morning, instead of tossing and turning in bed and waking up Joe, I crawled out of the warmth and settled on the couch with my laptop to read until I was sleepy again.
And eventually, much too long later, I was sleepy again.
So, I padded down cold wood floors barefoot, my hair doing what hair does best at 5:30 in the morning - flowing in random, improbable directions - and my hands cold from too much time outside blankets, I lifted the covers on my side of the bed to slide back into the soft warmth.
And Joe, in the deep sleep of the early morning, rolled over, lifted his arms just so for me to snuggle back in. Welcoming me home. Beckoning me back to where I belong.
As my breathing matched Joe's and my toes started to unfreeze, in that twilight stage of awake, I knew I was home.
Wherever I go, whatever life may bring, I have a home. It's with the man who, in his deepest sleep, (I even asked him this morning if I woke him up, but no, no recollection whatsoever) still loves me with every bit, enough to always open his arms and welcome me home, every time.
What a powerful realization in such a quiet moment - to know where you belong. To find your home.