The giant is sleeping.
Several times today I wondered what was giving me a headache, then realized he had been growling/whimpering/squirming for an hour straight. We infidels (the linoleum guy and me) made the mistake of interupting his sacred preparations for sleep, so he skipped that nap altogether. That always starts with smiles as he's freed from the bondage of his triple swaddle system but ends badly with teary-eyed writhing. The baby gets cranky, too.
By 2:30 he needed sleep like Kanye needs Jesus, and praise God he finally succumbed.
Days like this are tough because now is the time I should be practicing, reading, cleaning, whatever it is I think I can't do with the nipper around. The problem is that right about now I am wiped out. So then I'm tired AND vaguely guilt-ridden.
If only I had a Mercedes. And a cleaning service. And a nanny with a degree in massage therapy.
Bring out the bon-bons.