Last night was one of those clingy nights. The Boy was a Momma's Boy last night, and Musical Daddy was just not doing the trick. That's okay, I guess, but made trickier by the fact that Mommy is preggo and needs to pee every thirty seconds. She goes to the potty, he flips out.
Freely admitted "selfish Daddy" moment: I was in the middle of a video game, the first in several weeks, when Mommy got up to go to the restroom and The Boy started to cry. I let him cry until she was done, because I was in the middle of a game. I could have gotten up, but I had just settled down and was tired.
I was paid back by not being able to fall asleep until nearly two AM. Karma has a way of balancing things out quickly and thoroughly.
I had a great discussion with my friend B last night, who suggested going to church (not as an employee) to get a restful, peaceful, spiritual experience. It's funny; I've never been a big subscriber to that, mostly because I had a "must keep moving or will implode" personality imperative since - well - birth. I don't sit still well, never done it, never will. Sitting still is boring.
Except with The Boy. There's my religious experience.
You're telling me that, lying down in bed with The Boy, with his head on my shoulder, thumb in mouth, his eyes intently watching me... the eyes start to droop, pop open, droop, pop open, repeat... then stay closed, breathing slows, finger hooks around nose, sleep starts. That's not a religious experience? If not, then I misunderstand religion. That's all that I particularly need.
He's the only thing I've ever stayed still for, and I don't predict much (past Baby Bear) that will do that for me. I know those memories, and those feelings, are precious treasures that will be mine forever.