It’s slightly past the crack of dawn on a Sunday. I’m awake earlier than I’ve ever been on March 18th. Thankfully I chose to only have 3 pints of Guinness last night. I chose wisely. Thing 2 is awake and full of life. He has been for over an hour. Other than his non-stop chatter the house is quiet, and despite my head being covered in a sleep-deprived fog I am almost enjoying myself. Almost.
Tricia has the day off today, which is rare, meaning that we both have the day off which is unheard of. It used to be a more common occurrence. It also used to be something that we took advantage of. Something that mattered.
Sundays in the past were filled with farmer’s markets, hiking, long drives to nowhere and breakfasts on sun-warmed patios.
Now, a day off starts with arguments about who gets to sleep in, the one that gets up early every day to go to work or the one that gets up early every day to the sounds of a crying baby. The argument was over quickly.
Instead of getting ready to go somewhere I am sitting here passing the time until I can go back to bed.
I was up late with Thing 1 and his fever. I slept with him on the pull-out couch, which is the same as sleeping with him on a pile of springs and forks. I’m tired and slightly sore.
This is what Sunday has become, a waiting game of sleep roulette.
Our day should be unfolding before us with possibility and opportunity, but the house is a mess, the yard needs tending, there is the lingering of the fever, and I’m tired.
My wife has a bed to herself right now, and I’ve got next.