It's amazing how many emotions parenthood can bring up in a short span of time: annoyance, confusion concern, sloth... It was five am, and I was in the shower when a small frantic knocking come on the door. "Daddy! Daddy! I need to get in the bathroom."
Annoyance. Not so much for junior's bladder as for the powers-that-be's ridiculous idea of messing with the clocks. I'm sure he would have made it another hour if we hadn't just set the clocks back recently. And why call it "Daylight Savings Time" when it's during the time of year that we have more daylight than we can possible spend? Are we really saving it for the winter months? Of course not, but that's a rant for another day.
I reached out and turned the knob and PP scampered in. The annoyance was short lived because he has a new set of footy PJ's that are adorable on him. Unfortunately, getting in and out of them is an acquired skill. He managed to get out on his own (mostly, the feet where still on), but I knew getting in would be too much for him.
Confusion: As he scampered around the partition to the toilet, he just had one comment for me "My octopuses don't like cupcakes."
"What?" No answer. It must have been some residual image from a dream. I really wish I could see his dreams sometimes.
Sloth: During the chilly months, we keep the house a bit on the cold side. At night the thermostat drops to 55 degrees, which means that stepping out of my early morning showers is a downright frigid experience. It takes an act of iron will to move from the warm cocoon and into the cold, cruel world outside. The experience is made even more extreme by the fact that the house's sole thermostat is downstairs and the rather peculiar layout of our house means the upstairs bathroom has an interior door leading to the uninsulated attic. Tightening up both the door and the attic are on my todo list for next year (this year's energy rebate went to a new roof), but in the mean time I'm showering in the coldest room in the house.
Well, on this morning, I found myself with an excuse to prolong my blessed ablutions. I'd finished with soap and was about to turn the shampoo when PP arrived. I couldn't start shampooing if he was going to need help, could I? The image of me leaning out, frothing and half blind didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, I just basked as the room got steamer and steamer.
After a few minutes, he shuffled around the corner, his pull-up mostly in place, but his PJs trailing out behind him like a comet's tail. Doing my best not to drip, I helped him on with the arms and zipped him up. I was planing to send him right back to bed, but he had a question for me first. "Daddy, why can't you tell purple from blue?"
Concerned: Uh oh. Is the the first clue to a form of color blindness? After all, I've suspected for a while that I was "red nearsighted" . At least that's my explanation for nearly failing genetics lab. What the hell do they mean red-eye vs. scarlet-eye? Red and scarlet are just two names for the same color, aren't they? I think I just found myself going "red,red,red,scarlet,red,red,red,scarlet."
"Do you mean when it's dark?" I asked. It seemed appropriate, as the sun was nowhere near up. Maybe he'd seen something in the bedroom that had triggered the question, although 5am was hardly the time to be pulled into a discussion of the relative sensitivity of rods and cones.
"Yeah, when they're light, it's ok, but when they're dark it's hard to tell them apart."
Ok. Now it makes sense, Knowing that 5am while standing is the shower is not a time to get pulled into a discussion of rods and cones, I settled for "Yeah, it's hard to tell colors apart when it's dark." That seemed to be enough, and he scampered off to cuddle with Cluquah for a while longer. I finished quickly shampooed and stepped out of the shower. It wasn't nearly as bad as usual, as I couldn't see across the bathroom for all the steam.
Of course, the payback came the next day when I needed to get into the attic found the door had swollen shut. Damn.