Yesterday was a slightly unpleasant day.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are long days for me. I'm at work from about 7:30am and then finish work at 4:00pm and go to my night lectures. On one of those days (this week it was Thursday) I then go straight from uni to football training.
Last night I got home just as Helen was swaddling Bugs and getting ready to put him down. He was so tired I didn't even get the normal "Daddy's home!" smile. All I got was an opportunity to give him a little kiss good night before he was tucked in. For the first time since he was born, there were no cuddles for me * pout *
It reminded me of the memories I have of Thursday nights and my own father. He's a butcher and for a long time he worked in a shop that was in a shopping centre that opened for late night shopping on Thursdays. Dad would leave for work around 6:30-45am, generally before I'd woken up. There were quite a few nights when Dad would come home from work after I had gone to bed. Often he would creep in and give me a little kiss on the forehead or gently ruffle my hair as I pretended to be asleep (I was in primary school so anytime after 9:00pm was way past my bed time. In my mind, being awake meant trouble so I kept my eyes firmly shut).
I had no idea why he would do it, figuring it was just one of those weird things that fathers do.
Now I think I understand. Even 15 seconds of sleepy recognition is better than nothing at all.