Yesterday I got out of bed. Up to this point I've only gotten out of bed because I had to, yesterday I got out of bed because I wanted to.
I got out of bed, and then I cleaned. Not because I had to (and trust me I had to) but because I wanted to.
We rearranged the house. The baby learned to climb stairs. A couples of my friends kids came over. One even stayed the night.
Today I'm sore, I'm exhausted. I don't know when/if I'm going to want to get out of bed again. But yesterday I did, and I wanted to and it was good.
We talked a lot of Bram yesterday. It's hard, it's almost a compulsion to talk about him, but talking about him brings back flashbacks.
I cried yesterday. I cried because even though I know he's ok, I want him here, I want him with us. I miss him. Every cell in my body screams for him.
But I got out of bed. And I'm proud of myself. And at the same time I'm waiting for the next hit to knock me back down.