I had kind of late night late night in the advertising mines last night. The true bummer of the whole thing is working late nights doesn’t fill me with rage anymore. I’ve come to a resigned dullness. But last night I got a real treat, in the form of a crying baby.
I arrived to my house at 9 last night to find Diana and our friend Kitty making their way through a bottle of wine. They were discussing how they were going to teach Elijah about the birds and bees. I begged them to wait until he was at least two years old. And to keep me out of it.
Just as I poured myself a weighty glass of Portugal red wine, Eli started crying upstairs. Eli waking himself up and crying is a rare occurrence anymore. He’s usually good for 12 hours of snooze.
So I decided to check on him. When I hit the top of the stairs I found him rocking on his hands and knees* and wailing.
I scooped him up and realized he was half asleep but still pretty upset. I sat down on the rocking chair and held him. He hugged me and put his little head on my shoulder and let out a little sigh. After a few seconds he fell asleep.
Given the fact that Eli normally views hugging as torture, I was in heaven. I could hear Kitty and Diana downstairs having a grand time, but I was fine in the dark with my little guy.
*I’m a little disturbed by Eli’s rocking. I was a big time rocker when I was a baby. So much so that I used to bash my head on my crib and my parents had to pad the sides so I wouldn’t knock myself out. I’d rather Eli didn’t inherit whatever bad wiring that made me look like I should be a cast member of “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest."
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