Of Daylight Savings

Remember how we discussed Emmett's propensity for waking around 6:30 in the morning? It would appear his internal clock subscribes to Daylight Savings Time. By logical means, Little Guy should have slept until 7:30am in accordance with springing forward. Instead, we heard his happy self-talk breaking the still-dark silence at 6:10am new time.

Really, Little Man, really?

So, after a rough night's sleep, I was awake only a few hours later with my guy (at what felt like 5 o'clock in the morning).  After playing with a giggly baby for a little bit, he started rubbing his eyes and I resorted to the easy chair.  As I rocked him back and forth, wishing someone else was available to watch him so I could sleep, I realized, this was a treasured moment. 

I'll be able to sleep tonight.  And tomorrow night and ten years from now and twenty years from now.  There will always be more sleep.  But rocking my son as he rubs his eyes and I try to convince him to rest?  This window is so short.  A fleeting moment.  Who am I to trade the priceless for the ordinary?

And what a book-ended day.

Fifteen hours later, after a terrifying 50 miles on the road through snow shooting at the windshield (as my sister-in-law, the driver, put it, it felt as though we were driving at warp speed by the effect of the white flakes creating tunnel-like vision), we finally settled into a hotel half-way to our intended destination.  Not having toted along a pack n' play for Little Man, I find myself sharing my queen bed with a tiny person who occupies an inordinate amount of bed space.  And once again, his head rested on my shoulder as he attempted to sleep in a roomful of people, his soft, fuzzy hair brushing lightly against my cheek.

Sigh.

Treasured, priceless moments.