So I pulled my double babysitting shift, picked up my girlfriend Ellie, and made it to Boston in plenty of time to see the show. I did not have spit-up on my shirt. Actually little George soaked my thigh with a milky burp, and I didn't have a change of pants, but no one noticed.
The show was great, so much energy and big drums. Most of the crowd was college aged which made me feel old, but I had some nice conversations with the artists afterward, and left feeling inspired to write. Thanks to a big Dunkin' Donuts Iced Coffee and a stack full of new CDs, I stayed wide awake the whole drive home. I was actually too wired to sleep and made faces at myself in the mirror for a while, then about 2:30am I decided it was time to try to wind down in bed.
When I snuck under the covers, Ellie snuggled over close and flipped her leg over me, pinning my legs together down to the mattress. At first I was annoyed and uncomfortable. How would I toss and turn now? But then I started to calm down, really relax. I remembered how earlier that day baby George was trying in vain to fall asleep and I held him tight to my body. When he cried and tried to kick out or punch or arch his back, my arms were firm, keeping his limbs in place. And I felt that each time he tried to squirm, but met the resistance of my embrace, he relaxed a little. When he felt sure that I wouldn't drop him, that there was a stronger someone holding him safe, his wails turned to little murmurs and hums and he was sleeping like, well, a baby.
And then I was, too.
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