Hour

Every fall when it's time to set back the clocks, I always wait until Sunday evening to admit that anything has changed. I play little games with myself all day to maintain the illusion that daylight savings hasn't happened. That way, at 8:30 PM when I announce to myself that it's actually 7:30 PM, there is cause for great celebration.

But it's more complicated when you have a baby. Lyla's bedtime doesn't suddenly change; just like always, she fell apart at 7:00 this evening (6:00 to you). When Julie and I put her to bed, we imagined her sleeping her usual 12 hours and waking up at her usual time, an entire hour earlier than we're accustomed to tending to her many demands.

I suppose we'll gradually move Lyla's bedtime to the new 7:00, but what a pain. We're saving daylight, yes, but is it really worth messing with the schedules of babies across America?

Anyway, I'm almost ready to take my hour, but I need to get myself back in the mindset of it being an hour later than it actually is. Ugh, I wish I had more time. I want ice cream and tea, but there's no time. I should just get ready for bed. I hate Sunday nights.

And NOW.

It's not 8:30, it's only 7:30! Woo hoo!