There’s something wrong with my alarm’s snooze,
It had worked so well so early I thought I couldn’t lose,
But now it’s crying out all night long, every hour,
Turning my mood, my thoughts, my day somewhat sour,
But I won’t let the misfiring alarm ruin my day, I refuse.

It used to go off every morning as scheduled,
Though what it’s doing now is normal, so I’ve been told,
I miss those days of 7, 8, 9 hours uninterrupted,
The hours of the nights passed like they had been scripted,
Who knew those original nights were good as gold.

So if my poem is a little off, beat and kilter,
Please forgive me, with lack of sleep, I have no filter,
To pick out the words and phrases, cadence and timing,
To come up with the best bit of perfectly sculpted rhyming,
To dazzle with my humorous wit, my mind is all a tilt-er.

Just a few more hours, my darling, sweet alarm,
If I ask with all my honesty, guile and charm,
Would you see fit to let me sleep awhile longer,
And then be able to meet the day that much stronger,
Or must you keep playing the role of rooster on the farm?

The alarm goes off again, as it must, as is its way,
I rise, I stumble, I fall, I don’t have any words left to say,
Changing, rocking, singing, cuddling, over and over,
Crying, screaming, fidgeting, squirming, teething moreover,
It could in fact, end up being a very, very long day.


A noise woke me from my slumber.  I call it slumber, not sleep, because I had only been dozing off and on throughout the night anyway.  We’d tried to go to bed early, tried to be good knowing the hectic days we both had ahead of us, but as is often the case: that knowing that we needed to be sleeping made it that much harder to actually sleep.

The noise had been a crashing sound.  Something in the room or the adjacent bathroom being knocked over and tumbling down to the ground.  A cascade of noises, really, with a solid thump to cap it off.  The cats, I thought as the last strings of my tentative hold on sleep were severed completely.

I checked for pressure, weight, on my feet or next to my legs and found none there.  That absence solidified the truth of the situation, the source of the noise.  Definitely the cats.  What are they doing up so early?

Maybe it’s not early?!  Panic hit me like a ton of bricks.  My chest heaved with the blow, my mind reeled, and my arms flailed towards my clock.  Am I late?  Did I sleep through my alarm?

I pulled the clock towards my face, so I could read the time without putting on my glasses.  4:38…  My sleepy brain took a moment to do the math.  I still have 22 minutes I can sleep.

I heaved myself back into a sleeping position, pulled the blankets back up under my chin and sighed heavily.  And then I stayed there, awake, listening to the cats getting into trouble, until the alarm went off and I got up to start my (now even) long(er) day.

Love is…

My wife, my 6 months pregnant wife, getting out of bed 3 hours before her alarm is supposed to start going off so she can bandage me up, help me get my socks on, and help me tie up my shoelaces.

She. Is. Amazing.

Actually, it should be more like this:  She is absolutely amazing!!!!!

Yeah, that seems better.

For reference, this is what happened to me. 

I’m not doing all that great this morning.  I’m still swollen and I haven’t yet found any comfortable way to sit.  And by “comfortable,” I mean something lacking in the pain.

Oh, and I’m pretty sure that speed bumps were invented solely to torment me.  Well, they’ve done their job and hopefully they’ll be taking some well deserved time off next time I need to navigate over them.

I’d certainly be okay with that.