Day Eight

I love my son. He wears me out, but I love my son.

Actually, it's not so much my son that wears me out, but the dangerous combination of having no sensible supervision (i.e. Denver Mom) and a son that seems completely incapable of sleeping past 4:30 a.m.

Last night, for some reason that still doesn't make much sense in the clear, warm light of day, I decided to stay up until twelve o'clock watching "Nashville." Now, I know a lot of people who consider twelve a perfectly reasonable time to crawl into bed. Once, when I was younger and childless, I also felt that twelve was a workable bed time, but now that I'm old, rapidly graying, and have a nineteen month old boy, twelve may as well be an "all-nighter" or "next Friday" or "to Pluto and back, backwards." If my fingers are to be believed, I count only four hours of sleep, maybe five depending on when I really did doze off, and it's just not enough when your day consists of running after a cackling child.

Running after a cackling child? Yes. That's what I did all day. One of my wife's coworkers invited Chunk and I to join her, her goofy husband who is about as nerdy as I am, and their charming daughter for a walk through the Cherry Creek Farmer's Market. Why was I invited? Well, Denver Mom set up a network of women from her office who's job it is to check up on me while she's gone and it was this particular coworker's turn in the barrel... er... time to call me. Regardless of the reasons, it was nice to get out, talk to some adults a bit, and watch Chunk play with their little girl.

The Farmer's Market was actually kind of disappointing. I don't know why, but I have this unrealistic expectation for these things. I always imagine huge baskets filled with food so good and healthy that it practically glows with goodness, manned by old farmers in overalls, and I'm always disappointed when I find yuppies in Banana Republic clothes, sitting in booths with everything stamped "organic," and none of it looking all that appetizing.

Thankfully, the disappointing meander through the Farmer's Market quickly became a trip to City Park. And, what was in City Park that was so exciting? It was the twenty or so water jets that are hidden behind the Museum of Nature and Science, shooting cold water six feet into the air at random intervals. The best part? The tiled area where this is all set up is so kid friendly that the stone they used is textured enough that even a nineteen month old can run on it, water shooting everywhere, and not slip and fall. Even better? The big kid that knocked Chunk over while they were running and giggling through the water jets not only stopped to make sure my little guy was okay, but he also apologized.

We had a blast. Then, after a nap that was entirely too short, went to a BBQ at a friend's house, where Chunk was the life of the party, the guests were all really nice, and there was cheese dip.

Frankly, I'm worried that I might have hit my head sometime today and just don't remember it. When your day is this good, you immediately have to suspect a head injury.