It's as if I can hear the clock ticking the seconds away.
But it's not really the seconds left until the New Year that concern me so much as the seconds left until we have to leave Ian again.
"It's weird. I want to go home, but I don't want to go home," Esther said yesterday.
"I know exactly how you feel," I said. "Exactly."
We are all stuck somewhere in between, so grateful for our little life boat, as we bob along the waves, but also keenly aware that a life boat isn't sea worthy for the long term.
"I want you to be my husband all the time," I said as I put my head in that place on his chest saved for me, the place I have been longing to rest in.
"I am," he said, so confidently I lost the desire to whine anymore and instead locked my attention in the here and now. Here and now. The feel of my cheek against his shirt. The warmth coming from underneath his shirt. The smell of him. Here and now. Otherwise I will have regrets.
"Daddy," I heard Isla's voice say as she cuddled up to Ian in bed this morning. "Isla," Ian answered.
"Daddy," she said again. "Isla," he answered again.
"I don't care if you're scratchy anymore, Daddy," she said.
It seems even Isla is recognizing the importance of enjoying Ian while we can, whiskers or no whiskers.