Monday Mornings.

Every week I go through the same emotional routine with Wesley. On a normal weekday, Wesley knows there's a 50/50 chance he will see me for a few fleeting minutes before I head out or if I slipped out under the cover of the morning darkness. His attachment is there, and he is excited when I get home, but it is nothing compared to Saturday and Sunday. I try to spend as much time as I can with Wesley on weekends, including getting up with him both mornings, and we always have a great time. But then the dreaded Monday morning arrives, and my leaving is met with absolute devastation. "No Daddy work!" is pretty heartbreaking for a pathetic pushover of a father like me. And the Wesley's pounding on the front door after I shut it behind me doesn't make it any easier. I guess I should feel appreciative of this affection, but it still makes those weekdays painfully long.