She Is My Strength

This is going to sound really dramatic.
I don’t care.

This job is taxing on me emotionally/mentally. It’s not hard. Actually, it’s the opposite. It’s quite easy. But it is also repetetive, boring, and SLIGHTLY demeaning. Not overly, but slightly. And it also turns me into a person I don’t want to be. This is why I don’t like it. This is what makes me feel sick to my stomach at the thought of going back for six hours. I don’t like the person this job makes me be. I’m telemarketing, and I hate it.

That being said.. Nellie is sleeping on me right now. She is passed out, blissfully dreaming whatever it is that babies dream. Her hand is pressed against my chest right now.. Occasionally her tiny fingers will flex and press closer into my skin. As I look down at her, she smiles and giggles a little in her sleep. And it hits me:

I can do this.
For her.
For our family.

Until something better and more tolerable comes along.. I can do this.

She is my rock.. She is my strength. When I feel like I can’t punch another damn number on that phone, I will think about her fingers grasping my shirt. When I feel like the World’s Biggest Asshole for bothering people at home, I’ll think about the gigantic grin she gives me in the morning when I go to her crib. When my eyes are watering from staring at endless names and phone numbers, I will remember the feeling of her sleeping against my chest.

For her, I can do anything.