Waking up on the other side

I slept for almost ten hours, waking up at 7 am local time, when my daughter arrived to crawl all over me. When we’d first reunited at the airport, she’d been very shy, apparently confused about this strange man she’d been presented with, and not recognizing him at all.

Thankfully, a few hours of bouncing her on my knee and giving her things to play with and I was back in her good books: this experiment in sending our child to the other side of the world is not something that I particularly want to repeat, but there don’t appear to be any permanent consequences.

However, jet lag is a harsh mistress. Despite all the sleep I had, I feel quite devoid of energy. Walking down the street, ascending a flight of stairs, talking, these are all tasks that require more energy than I can muster right now. My legs are like wet cement, my eyes are constantly drooping, as if I am two meals down on standard operating guidelines.

Some of that isn’t jet lag. I’d been going hard at it in the last week, and the sleep deprivation, combined with the hangover, is a painful combination. I’d planned to go running today, but it feels like I’ve been beaten up. With a much more mobile daughter to contend with, this is only harder than it otherwise would have been.

Later, I hope I’m fully awake again. There isn’t time not to be.

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