At the end of the day on Friday I was tired, but it seemed like a normal amount of tired – until I fell asleep at 7 pm. I woke up at midnight and the last thing I could remember was telling myself not to fall asleep so early because there were things I wanted to do. I woke up at midnight to get sick.
The next time I woke up it was because the kid was calling and we were just in time to see Canada’s World Junior hockey team play an excellent third period before losing to Russia in overtime of the bronze medal game. And then I fell back to sleep.
I’m not sure what time it was the next time I woke up, and I was still in bed, in the same place I had been the last time I had been conscious, but it sure felt like I’d been hit by a bus. I spent the rest of Saturday in bed, mostly asleep, achy and grumpy. It felt like part of my body was on a slight delay.
I finally woke up for a couple of hours in the evening, and that’s when I started to feel badly.
Whenever I’m sick, as much as I know that I need to time in bed, the rest, to recuperate, there is always a little calculator in my head that ticks off one less day I spent with my little girl.
As we approach her third birthday it is so clear that there just aren’t that many days at each stage of her life. These toddler days are coming to an end. Kindergarten doesn’t seem very far away at all.
Soon we will see the end of that precious time when I am her favourite person in the world, when she gives away hugs and kisses so willingly.
I spent the weekend in bed so that Monday would be a better day for us, but I lie here thinking about what I might be missing.
Although the time she’s spending with Daddy certainly wasn’t wasted: