Bed time can be tough. It’s a strange thing because physically it’s not terribly difficult, you just gotta bauble Roby for a little while and do it in silence and in the dark. It’s sort of calming, really. It’s eaiser than going to a concert or going to work. But the trouble is in the fact that you’re real tired when you start it.
There are math problems I can solve at 3pm that I can’t solve at 3am.
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Your capacity for tenderness can only really be understood in the middle of the night.
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One thing I quite like about the difficulty of it is you can’t let it get to you. In previous arguments with Abby or with myself or with my folks or my friends, I could allow myself to fall into self pity and upset. Just getting more and more frustrated by the situation until grumpiness grinds me into the ground. Maybe that’s just me, but when it’s just you, you’re allowed to be pretty pissed off.
But if you’ve got a baby in your hands, you had best get it together, hadn’t you? The importance of that makes it easier. Everything feels a bit sillier with a baby in your hands. You’re gonna let that get to you? You’re going to be low down and upset about that? Look at her. If you can’t act an adult for the sake of a perfect human, well, that’s no good.
There are math problems I can solve at 3pm that I can’t solve at 3am.
A virtue untested
...etc.
But if you’ve got a baby in your hands, you had best get it together, hadn’t you? The importance of that makes it easier. Everything feels a bit sillier with a baby in your hands. You’re gonna let that get to you? You’re going to be low down and upset about that? Look at her. If you can’t act an adult for the sake of a perfect human, well, that’s no good.