I left The Dragon Boss for the first time on Thursday night. Baleen had spent a night away already, that Saturday a few weeks ago up in Napa for the bachelorette - her one weekend away when instead of sleeping in 'til noon, the sun through the living room windows woke her up at six as the late arrival got the couch - but not me. Every morning that The Dragon Boss had opened his eyes (and half the times during the night - "a quarter of the times" according to Baleen), I'd been there for him.
But on Thursday I flew up to Seattle to play in the old man's soccer tournament and eat in Olive Garden with thirty other twenty and thirty somethings pretending they're fifteen again when their bodies know they're not.
Baleen told me that The Dragon Boss threw a fit without me, that he painted Baleen's white pants orange in the FroYo shop on Fillmore and that he woke her up 7 times during the night. We'd later find that those 7 times weren't cries of attention from a suddenly awake Dragon Boss, but a baby monitor set way too loud for a baby that talks in his sleep. But for now, it's better to think that my son missed me.
But on Thursday I flew up to Seattle to play in the old man's soccer tournament and eat in Olive Garden with thirty other twenty and thirty somethings pretending they're fifteen again when their bodies know they're not.
Baleen told me that The Dragon Boss threw a fit without me, that he painted Baleen's white pants orange in the FroYo shop on Fillmore and that he woke her up 7 times during the night. We'd later find that those 7 times weren't cries of attention from a suddenly awake Dragon Boss, but a baby monitor set way too loud for a baby that talks in his sleep. But for now, it's better to think that my son missed me.
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