Good morning, sunshine.

Mom and Dad went out last night and had a good time. And a bit of wine. It was my turn with Griffith and so when he woke up at 2:30, I got up and brought him downstairs. He was pretty good and we fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up about 5, I put Griff in the nursery and got in the bed in the guest room. He roused about 6 and I put him in bed beside me (oh, judge not, lest you be tired and a little hung-over). At 7, he started flipping. And flopping. And twisting. And turning. Great. Maybe if I lay really, really still, he'll settle down and go back to sleep. It could happen. So there I lay, playing possum when I feel something. I open my eyes to find my pride and joy about 3 inches from my nose, peeping over me and grinning like he knew that I was pretending.
Hard to be mad at him when he seems so delighted to see me. Not his fault that I over-indulged. "Griff will wake at seven regardless of how you feel." I think I'll write that on my drinking hand.