I Waved Bye-Bye; He Cried

I wake up around 5:30 in the morning, but it's rare for me to crawl out of bed until just before six o'clock. I shower, dress, and grab a bite to eat, and then I head out the door between 6:30 and 6:40. The latest I can leave and still be on time (traffic willing) is 6:45am. Beyond that, all bets are off.

At 6:35 this morning, as I was packing my bag, the boy decided he wanted to wake up and fuss a little bit. Hunger, or wetness, or the minimal noise of my preparations, or a combination of the three, had motivated him to wail. I prepped some warm milk while Amy went to rescue him. We fed him, changed him, and I gathered my things to leave.

Standing in the open doorway, I waved to him. He knew I was leaving, and it broke his little heart. His face contorted in sadness, and he started to cry. It made closing the door and walking away an incredibly tough thing to do. I spoke with Amy on the phone a bit later, and the tears didn't last long. I suppose that's good.

I would've liked nothing more than to stay and be with my family this morning, but milk isn't free. The ugly truth is that, until a philanthropist takes mercy on me and sends me a check for several million dollars, I'm going to have to work.