It's 11:38pm. My son and husband are sound asleep in their warm, comfy beds. I'm sitting at the dining room table. Working. In a few minutes, I'll shut down, brush my teeth, and collapse under the sheets. Bright and early tomorrow morning, I'll be back at my desk to do it all over again. And I'll still be a month behind.
So I just keep telling myself it'll get better. Because while it seems like work is all there is, I remember there's this:
|The ICFs have arrived!|