The Wee, Small Hours

I woke with a start this morning, heart racing, mouth dry, vestiges of whatever nightmare creature was chasing me still hanging fuzzily around the corners of my eyes as I squinted at the clock. Stealthily, I slid a toe over toward Tim's side of the bed, knowing that that contact would help steady things. And he wasn't there.

It wasn't late enough for him to have gone to work, so I jolted even more awake and slid out of bed to go see if I could find him. Not in the guest room. None of the lights looked like they were on downstairs, but that was my next destination, but I figured I'd peek in on the kiddo on my way past. And there, snuggled into the double bed that's still in that room, was Tim.

It being a work day today, last night was my turn to handle the baby if he woke. But honestly? I didn't hear a thing. Apparently it was bad enough that Tim decided to sleep in there. Which is now a trend of the past several days that is going to need to be nipped in the bud (though we're perhaps a tad past the bud at this stage) soon. It's his teeth - I know this - but the problem is that he also gets used to having someone in there and you have to start all over with the idea of him being ok sleeping through the night on his own.

I tried going back to bed but could tell it wasn't going to take. So I came downstairs to read some and check my email. And now it's late enough that the coffee should be brewing any minute now on its auto-timer. I guess Tim's not making his carpool today, since I haven't heard any stirrings.

And I feel bad. When it's Tim's nights and I hear the boy, I give Tim a nudge so he can go deal with it. And I totally expect that he'll do the same on my nights. Normally he does. But last night he didn't. So now, the fact that I slept deeply, at least for a little while, for the first time in several days means that I've hosed up his hours for the week.

Wife and mother of the year candidate, right here.