It implies you benefit, that phrasing, “daylight savings.” Like this new change, this added hour, comes with a sense of luxury or allowance…like “What will I do with this one extra hour today?” A whole hour. 60 more minutes. 3,600 more seconds…and yeah, you know I used a calculator for that math there.
When we woke up this morning to the babies babbling over the monitor, I thought I’d take one for the team and let Mister sleep a little longer. I could keep Boy entertained with Shrek, the newest movie added to his rotating preferences. I could give Baby her bottle. And all this while depositing some solid effort points in the marriage bank. I felt accomplished, keeping two chickadees occupied while letting my husband sleep. Look at me. I’m momming by choice, people.
And then, we were off to the races. Spider-Man swinging from his web that Dog always likes to claw and chew. Boy finding chewed Peter Parker under the table. Baby the only low-maintenance player in this charade spitting up on her third outfit of the morning. And what started off as an effort to give back feels like an empty promise.
Was it already a long day, and daylight savings only made it longer? Yeah, it definitely felt like that at points.
But then at the end, as I gave Baby her last bottle of the day and her brother read one more book with his daddy out in the living room, I felt the luxury of that extra hour. It was a long day. And not a whole lot got accomplished to show for it. But there I sat with my Baby, knowing she could take as long as she wanted with tonight’s bottle. We had time.
a scribble of jo 