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Early Bedtime


I awake to the sound of my daughter crying. In the dark I stumble to her room, groping with my feet for any toys on the ground. (Sorry for making you read the words “groping with my feet” in that order. Slip of the tongue (or hand in this instance)). She reaches for me, and even though it is still pitch black outside, her tiny, warm frame, her soft sighs of exhaustion, and the way her head fits in the crook of my shoulder & neck sets the sun to rising in my chest.

I write this in the late night/early morning when this hemisphere sleeps, and the world redevelops. Marie & I crashed before it was 9:30. Three years ago 9:30pm was still a young evening. And although I am only in my mid-twenties I have been blessed with a routine that offers me time & chance to be with my family. Three years ago today Marie would have just been recovering from gallbladder surgery. No, wait, that was—no, I’m right. It was 3 years ago.

Just a few months later & she was pregnant w/ Amelia. I was still finishing school. Time changes so fast I’m surprised I got anywhere. But I’m here writing a daily diary in the half-light of the bathroom at 4:00am because life made me so tired I fell asleep at 8:50pm. To me that is funny. It is perseverance.

It is a baby step with a blindfold on. Moving? Yes. Directed? Absolutely not.

I love my mom, dad, sis, daughter, wife, & cat



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