Reflections on Our Weekend

Bad:

Being woken up by a shrieking demon at 4:40 AM. (Doug reminisced Saturday that bars in Buffalo don’t even close until 4.)

Only having time to take a shower on either Saturday or Sunday, but not both.

Realizing at 8:45 PM on Saturday that for the fourth day in a row, even though you have talons on your fingers and toes, you just don’t have the energy required to cut your nails.

Discovering that after 8 hours of crawling, singing, standing, playing with toys, pulling up on furniture, playing with baby-safe household objects, looking out the window, playing with marginally dangerous household objects, and reading 27 board books-- there’s nothing new left to do. And Harrison’s bored. And you’ve still got 4 hours until bedtime.

Best:

Having the time to bring Harrison into our bed when he first wakes up. (I would write, “when he first wakes up in the morning,” but I object to classifying 4:40 AM as morning.) He almost always falls back asleep, and he usually gravitates mama-ward, until he’s practically on top of me. This smooshedness forces me to balance on the edge of the mattress, so close to falling out of bed that I often can’t fall back asleep. It also makes me swoon with Bubby-love. I may not be able to breathe with his head pressed into my face, but his hair smells oh-so-good.

Once he’s awake, it’s what Doug and I call Party Time. He roams around the bed. He terrorizes the poor cats. He scales the headboard. He comes at you, open-mouthed, and leaves a path of drool across your face not unlike snail goo. He squeals and yells and laughs. He stands up and jumps up and down like a kangaroo. He hugs, cuddles, and nuzzles blankets, pillows, and humans.

Sigh…wish I was there now. . .