It’s the middle of the night, and so far, I’ve slept in our bed for thirty, blissful minutes. I just fed Henry as he lulled himself back to sleep; now I’m here, behind the bright light of the computer screen in an otherwise dark and sleepy house, and appeasing middle-of-the-night hunger with a bowl of cereal made up from the left over crunchy crumbs at the bottom of my favorite box. I can hear Henry’s squeaky sounds over the monitor from here, and I just keep praying that I’ll have enough time to sneak back off to bed for a few solid hours before he wakes again for morning.
Earlier tonight, I was grumpy about the awkwardness of the evening–how Henry needed his mommy and I did very little else as a result. But just now, as I watched him curl up in his crib after falling sound asleep in my lap, everything in me melted. Suddenly, I could care less that I’ve gotten little sleep, or that the morning will come in just a few short hours. To watch this little person, not quite six weeks old, lull his way back to dreaming was just the most perfect thing. And as he curled to his right and found his tiny little fingers to pacify himself, I fell, hard in love all over again.
The squeaks sound more like sadness now, as the little one summons mom from the nursery one more time tonight. So thankful for the moments that make each cry worthwhile.
sleepy, but content,