"Get up, stretch out, stomp on the floor"
Today feels pretty peaceful. It's rainy and cool. We have the sensory gym soon, home for Wally's nap, hopefully out to Brooklyn to visit nieces, and a gallery opening in Chelsea later this evening. Alex will go straight to recording at the studio after work so we won't see him until tomorrow. Can't figure out how he can work until midnight or so then leave for work at 7 AM. I don't think I'd be able to do it as many nights as he can. Then again everyone has their own grueling schedules. I know there are those of you who work routinely until 3 in the morning. Not to mention doctors who work 36 hours after one hour's sleep. And routinely expect to be woken up and delivery babies or save people's lives right smack in the middle of a great dream about Maui. Plus Alex definitely falls into the "sleep through it" camp. Or, as soon as he's woken up, he falls right back asleep, no matter how much clatter is going on around him. It's a good survival skill. He thinks poor sleeping is like a peanut allergy. If something that little (noise, a nut) can take you down, you probably shouldn't be here. I'm not, knock wood, a poor sleeper at all. I should say Yet, because I'm told it kicks in during your 40s/50s. But I can't get rid of that military training from the newborn days. The slightest rustle even just the wind and I spring up, ready for action. Not adaptive now that we have a toddler who likes to call out and bang around just for fun. His latest request is for me to sing "Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog" at some godforsaken hour. Then after I'm finished and everything's quiet, a little voice from the darkness: "Hot dog again?"