It’s the Big Little Things
That moment, after four weeks of illness – and five years of parenthood – when you finally fall into a deep sleep…and you are awoken by an ice pack (otherwise known as a little boy hand) on your inner arm. Through your earplugs of denial, you begin to hear your smallest child yelling from the bathroom and crying for you to wipe him.
It may not be the most important thing anybody does today, but it’s pretty up there to at least one person in this world.
And, thank God, because there’s not much else worth being dragged from sleep, precious sleep. Precious, elusive, fickle, dirty bastard, betraying, why are you never there for me when I need you?!?!? sleep.
Ahem. Sorry, I’m a little tired.