There is a very strong part of me that is just WAITING for the day that Lily sleeps through the night. Like, really and truly puts her wee little head down at 7 and doesn’t peep again until 6 or 7 the next morning. But there is a small (albeit exhausted) part of me that clings hard to those sleep-drenched nighttime shuffles toward her crib, where her fretting is soothed by draping her over my shoulder and softly rocking her as she slumps into my chest. She sighs and her little face turns up towards me and I stare at her until I drift off to sleep myself. Or pulling her into my bed at 5 AM, where she curls against me like a pill bug, tucking her head into my shoulder and pulling her feet up, forming a warm ball of baby pushing into my side. I know this won’t last forever, so I try and enjoy each moment, even when I’m so tired it feels like sleep is clawing at me in the dark. Because a sleeping baby is a lovely thing, but the act of providing comfort is lovelier still.
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