Dear Spike:
It's Monday morning, about 9 a.m., and you're asleep on my lap.
Your head is resting on my left arm, rendering it unusable, which makes typing quite a chore. I could risk moving you to your nap mat, but I fear you'll wake -- and after the restless night you had, last night, I know you need your sleep.
All this likely will set me back a few hours of work today, but I really don't care.
Right now I'm holding my sleeping daughter in my arms. And I know this is a special opportunity that won't be around forever.
Love,
dad
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