Yesterday morning, our first of a three-day weekend, I was really hoping for a few extra minutes of shut-eye. Was 7:30 really too much to ask? (Crazy to believe that a year ago I wouldn't see the light of day before 10:00. And even that would be considered early.)
But right on schedule, I heard Jackson start to stir and talk to himself at 6:57. Fairly soon after that he was yelling his, "Hey guys, I'm over here...time to come get me!" mantra. Likely kneeling in his crib smacking his open palm against the slats, as if to impress us with his newfound mobility.
It was Saturday morning. I was so tired. Work has been so busy. I just need 15 more minutes, buddy. Pleeease let me have 15 minutes...
And as I was lying in bed listening to the jibber-jabber of a little boy who was oh-so-ready to start his day, I thought to myself, "Someday, when we're older and retired and the kids have moved away, I will give anything to have one more day just like this."
Suddenly, getting out of bed didn't seem like that much of a chore.
So we went downstairs, I made some coffee, and Jackson and Lucy got into a disagreement over the purpose of her dog bowls.
It's been an amazing weekend.
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