Yesterday afternoon, when the clock struck 4:45, I fell asleep for the night. Bean was dreadfully tired and I hadn’t felt myself for several days; I suffered a malaise that no number of chocolate squares could shake. Baby smiles had a temporary effect, as did boomer cuddles, but everything and everyone else seemed pitched in faded grayscale.
The long sleep of The Day After Guy Fawks Day was just smashing. Bean awoke 8 hours later and played for a bit then gave me a bit extra. We weren’t out of bed until 7:06 today. Just call me Sleeping Beauty (or Aurora for you kids in the know.)
The four downsides were
1. I failed to capture I day which was otherwise full of walks and talks and bucks in real life and baby hands
2. I failed to do 300 kettle bell swings, thus raising my debt to 600 and causing me to face the Everest scale of 900 today, subsequently leaving me to cowardly tuck my tail and raise my white flag before my blistered hands and almost-injured right wrist and no longer functioning left glute
3. I was the worst tutor ever and did not call my little brother to discuss his essay
4. I slept through pizza night
Despite all this, falling asleep with bean last night has earned its place as a treasured memory. There are few things in life I wouldn’t rather do over: do better, think better, be better. But losing myself to sleep, watching his eyelids close as his sweet left hand softly stroked chest is not one of these.