It was the whining that brought me out of my deep slumber at the wee hours of Sunday morning.

*whine*, *thrash*, *whine*   <Mmmmrrrfff??>

I was having one of those moments where you wake up but you lie there, unmoving, still fully ensconced within the cocoon of your bedclothes, snapping into full consciousness but completely unwilling to take the next step and actually use your brain to activate your limbs.   It was all I could do to blink and try to discern where I was in the dull grey early morning light slipping in on the edges of the blackout curtains.

*whiiiiiiiiinnnnnne*    <sigh>

One thing that is universally true about parenting is that the child’s schedule is never your own and their need to be attended to will be in inverse proportion to your own desire to stay the hell asleep.   Their timing is, if nothing else, impeccable.

We are a bit unconventional in how we sleep, but it works for all of us:  Wife – in queen bed in one corner; in the opposite corner, the crib, with Keston usually inside, and beside the crib, me on a single mattress on the floor.   This enables some pretty easy access since our kid is up several times a night to be attended.   It’s also handy when I have the mental capacity of a drunken newt at 4:30am and just need to have a quiet room to return to slumber.

*whine*, *sob*, *whine*   <groan, lift myself from my bed to the height of the crib>   He is standing up against the side of the crib, rubbing his eyes.  “Do you want to sleep with Daddy?   Ok, come on.”   I hoist him by the armpits and down onto my pillow where he instantly cuddles into the blankets as I pull them up to his chin.    Having been crowded out, I choose the edge of the bed, off the pillow, to fall back to sleep.   I wind an arm around his waist and snuggle in and he smacks his lips a few times and sighs.    He’s taking up the majority of the pillow, so I only get the dregs, but it matters little when I’m so tired.

Later in the morning I awake and spend a good half hour watching him sleep, flat on his back, arms spread wide, fingers relaxed, mouth agape, and snoring – I marvel at the peacefulness he has, the utter relaxation his body contains that mine often lacks.    In the dim light, his features are soft and beautiful and I marvel at him till I slip into slumber again for a few hours.

It is after 10 and we are awake; he stirs first and wakes me since we are cuddled close together.    He babbles on and on and I shush him to keep from waking Mumma, but we both enjoy the interaction.   He lies on his side facing me, looking at my face and my eyes, reaching out to touch my nose (“no!”) and smiles at my funny expressions.    I drink in the sight of him, those dancing eyes, the quirky way he moves his mouth, his little expressions.    He is all I concentrate on as I blink slowly in my sleepy wakefulness.

We retire to the downstairs once it’s determined that he will not return to the Land of Shut-Eye and we spend a good four hours, uninterrupted, watching some tube and playing and reading books.    He is all over, my boy, exploring, touching, babbling, playing.    I am there to keep him in one piece, to supervise, but I am also relishing my Daddy Time.   I get little of it during the week, so on the weekends, despite the sleeplessness it might entail, Keston and I get to reconnect and have some fun together.      I watch some TV but pause my show to read a book when he brings me one, and I make the funny voices and read in that expressive tone he likes so much, and we learn about TRUCKS! and TRACTORS!  and Big Bird and his inability to dunk a basketball properly despite being a 6-foot tall freak.

But most of all, we’re learning about each other, and enjoying our time — the smell of a baby boy, the cuddle of him on my lap, his giggles and babbles and nods, and my feeling that, of all the things in the world I could be doing on a weekend morning, I don’t think I could choose one that would come even close to the happiness and satisfaction of our time – my Daddy Time.