Three weeks later, I’m finally starting to feel a little better. Although I’m still a little woozy in the head, I have been hankering to get back to my regular routine. So earlier this week, after a long day of getting the kids up, plowing through a busy work day, and getting the kids down, I was eager to crawl into bed, have some me time with this week’s Economist, turn in early, and wake up early but well-rested, ready to do my usual morning-time activities.
Things never seem to go as planned when you have two small children. For just as I was getting drowsy, Jada started fussing about not being able to find her beloved doll. Never mind that all she had to do was look under one of her seven blankets; this is apparently an impossible task for our little girl. Rather than nipping it in the bud and just finding Dolly for her, I decided to give Jada room to figure it out on her own. Some 30 minutes later, she was still fussing, and Amy finally went in and did what I could have and should have done from the get-go.
An hour later, I was deeply asleep, the best I’d had in weeks. Enter Aaron, who inexplicably started moaning and wailing himself. In retrospect, him I should’ve waited out; when Amy and I debriefed about this the next morning, she said she was up and ready to help if needed, but that she had planned to just see if he could get himself back to sleep. But, at the moment, I made the decision to head up and see what was the matter. Nothing, apparently. Lesson: always listen to your wife.
However, it took me quite some time to get myself back to sleep, and when I did, it wasn’t nearly as restful as before. I ended up blowing right past my alarm, waking up both late and groggy, and thus in no better position than in any morning for the past three weeks. So the regular routine will have to wait for another day. Will my kids get the memo that I want that day to be soon?
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