I had a birthday yesterday, my 36th. I had an ice-cream cake from Lily and Suzanne, and I'm getting another one at work tomorrow, sharing the celebrations with someone who was born on the 19th.
As per presents, my mom and my wife conspired to get me giftcards to the two places that sell the ingredients required to complete a decorating job we've been planning for a while, so that's great.
But the best...the BEST present I got, and probably the best present I've received in ages, was the gift of sleep.
Suzanne and I have a deal whereby she gets up to see to Henry in the night and I wake up with Lily in the morning to do her breakfast and what-have-you. That means since Christmas Day, I haven't been able to sleep in past 7:30...not once. Most days I'm up between 6 and 7, which isn't really that early compared to a lot of people, but when it's every day, including the weekends, it can be pretty draining after a while.
That's why at 7 on Sunday morning, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Suzanne roll out of bed as Lily came into our room, I knew my birthday had come early.
"You sleep," she whispered. Finer words have never been spoken.
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