February 04, 2006

They call it stormy Monday

Originally uploaded by billyjoebob.
It should be stated first and foremost, punkling, that this photograph represents a mood, rather than an actual atmospheric event. Well that's not entirely true either. This IS an actual photograph, that (from memory) your wonderful and talented mother took while we were down in Apollo Bay late last year.

You've been a little bit sick this week, not sick enough that we're actually worried about you, but sick enough that you're uncomfortable, with a nagging dry cough that wakes you up at night and brings me shuffling into your room like a vacant-eyed zombie to pick you up and try to console you. You pound your tiny fists into my back and wail - expecting that as your omniscient father I should be able to make it all go away, to fix this sore throat you have and make it so you can sleep, but I can't, punkling, I can't.

Beleive me, pumpkin, if there was a way that I could make it easier for you to sleep, I would do it. The state into which your mother and I have descended, reminiscent of those first few months when you arrived, brought us to the crashing realisation of precisely how well rested we WERE before this unfortunate incident. We had been under the impression that we weren't getting much sleep, while you were going to bed at 730 and sleeping right through until 630 in the morning. More Fool Us.

You're fine during the day, well enough to go to daycare, well enough to come to the market and play with your toys and laugh and giggle and eat peaches and raisin toast, but as soon as we lie you down you start to hack and cough and cry. But my brain feels full of charcoal cotton wool, I can't think straight or make accurate decisions. We went to the market this morning, came home with four bags of groceries and no bread whatsoever.

And my shoulders drop and I sigh, because I haven't had the stone-cold joy of consecutive hours of sleep in days and I wish that I could help you be at peace and sleep but I can't and when you wake up you're fine and the house echoes to the joyful peal of your laughter and I love you so much I want to squeeze you like a toothpaste tube, but I need to SLEEP god i want to sleep please let me sleep.

It's all shades of grey for me - it's a stormy day despite the bright sunshine streaming through the curtains.

Love you.

1 comment:

E in Oz said...

I hope he's well again soon and you can all get some decent sleep.

Belated happy birthday to you, too. :-)