If I could humanize time he would be a dastardly villain with long skinny fingers he fiddles with under his handlebar mustache. And he says things like, "Meh" and "Yea, see." Through his nose. But pronounces "see" like "say".
Time is never kind. Never patient. Time knows nothing of love apparently. It never does what you want it to, or what it should do.
When you're 9 months pregnant and feel 82 months pregnant, miserable, and in pain, each day feels like a week. You're praying, CONSTANTLY, for time to hurry up. For that due date to come and give you relief.
When you're laying their awake, tired, dead tired, but unable to sleep, just hoping to get rest before your alarm clock goes off, time then decides to get off his ass, and sprint to morning, laughing his callous laugh, twiddling his mustache between his gangly fingers. "Muahaha, wanted to sleep eh? Not tonight see.".
Lately I've been begging time to slow down. Even just a little bit. Grayson is growing entirely too quickly for my liking. He's doing new things every day. And all I see is time staring me down with his ugly grin while my baby grows older each moment.
Right now I hate time.
Each day takes us further from the last time we spent with Tom, and closer to the time our babies aren't babies anymore.
I don't think time and I will ever get along.
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