I hear her cry sweep into my dark bedroom, and inwardly I groan. I have stayed up too late, relishing in the blissful independence that night time brings, the cozy comfort of being able to roll about and use my phone with two hands. I have lost hours in a stupid game I cannot play during daylight due to a grumpy baby, needy animals, and too many chores. How did midnight find me so quickly? Where did my "Freedom" hours go? I lie still and quiet next to my gently slumbering husband, half wishing he could take a turn, half wishing she won't wake him up. I let her fuss through a cycle, hoping against hope that she will find her pacifier, feel comforted, and go back to sleep. But the end of a gentle cycle brings on a louder one, and I know if I leave her crying for too long, she will be so awake, her feeding won't lull her back to sleep. So up I get as my husband begins to stir, hurrying to calm her so he can get a full night's rest. He's got his job in the morning. I've got mine all night.
Her room is always so much darker than I expect it to be, despite the string of battery operated apple-shaped lights hanging on her walls. She's ramped up louder than I realized and I scoop her up with comforting coos. Her little hand scratches at my shoulder, but she doesn't lean against me, pushing away, squirming, trying to manuever herself down to where she is the most comforted; with a breast in her mouth. So I hold her firmly and carefully, ignoring my sudden need to pee, and carry her back into my room.
Laying down with her, she makes urgent, noisy demands. I hate this because I know it disturbs her dad and as much as I resent his peaceful REM cycle, I don't want to wake him up. My pjs aren't warm enough to face the cold of the room, but inexplicably the blankets have become so completely twisted, I have no idea how to get under them while lying on my side. I fling one arm out, vainly tugging behind me, as I simultaneously try to maneuver my boob into my daughter's frantic mouth. I focus on the boob to calm her and once she's latched, I'm able to twist in such an acrobatic way that something shifts and suddenly the blankets flop over us as though there was nothing holding them back in the first place.
My dear husband has rolled away from us, snuggled against his pillow, knees bent in front of him, taking the room of two people, leaving baby and me a tiny sliver of bed. Even with the lack of room, he still manages to make his body totally useless to my need for support. If he lay just an inch closer, or rolled onto his back, I could lean my back against his warm strength and be able to relax. But because he's got the knack of keeping my weight off him during sleep so perfected, I am forced to steel my core against rolling into his gravitational pull and away from the baby. This nightly workout should have me toned by the time she starts sleeping till dawn.
Something about my pillow and my arm have made it impossible to just lay my head down, so I bend my elbow and prop my head on my forearm. This does nothing for my comfort level. I begin counting her gasping gulps, hoping she nods off soon. But she cried too long and she's awake enough to begin exploring. I can feel her little fingernails scratching at my skin, pinching any raised skin tag she finds. Her arm flings out and she whacks herself in the head several times, a new trick she's picked up. She pops on and off my breast, enjoying the sensations of learning to control her little body. She bucks and kicks me in the stomach, legs, crotch... her whole body never stops moving, even when she's suction-cupped to her milk-supply. Scratch, scratch, pinch, pull, kick, kick, kick. Her hand finds my shirt and yanks at it a couple of times. I count gasping gulps, readjust my arm, pull the blanket she's managed to kick off back over us, hoping my breathing, my heartbeat, our warmth will lull her back to sleep. Kick, kick, kick. Yank, tug, pull.
She pops of and gasps, finds her pacifier by following the handy cord that keeps it from being lost forever, and pulls it to her mouth. She's just playing with it and making happy cooing sounds. I stroke her head and take this momentary reprieve to adjust my position, jostling the pillow till my neck can rest without feeling like I'm hanging upside-down. She yanks her pacifier out of her mouth and turns back towards me, seeking me out. I help her and she latches again for 30 seconds before popping off and fussing. It's a good sign that she's tapped that side out, so I tuck her against me and we roll over together.
All comfort is once again lost in the scuffle of trying to fit our bodies together, her mouth finding my breast before I can sort out what happened to the blankets that were covering my legs a moment ago, and why the pillow decided to shoot out from under my head. But rolling over has calmed her and she seems drowsier. She moves a little less, still gulping and gasping, but they stretch apart and in a lull, I manage to settle my head on the pillow and snuggle us together as she slowly drifts off at my breast. Her hand has found mind and curled around it, her feet are tucked against my abdomen, and I can hear her beginning to fall into a deeper sleep.
My face is so close to her face... I can smell her sweet breath. I pop her relaxed mouth of me and tuck my bits back into my shirt, but now she's snuggled in my arms and she's so warm and soft. How has her hair grown so quickly? I rub my lips back and forth against the softness. She's still bald compared to some babies, but she's got more hair than she ever had before. I can just make out the curve of her face from the glow of a streetlight filtering in through my blinds. Such a sweet round little face.
It's just me in this moment. My husband is snoring contentedly and my daughter is sailing to dreamland. It's just me and her heartbeat and her sweet smelling breath. The resentment I had for her daddy getting to sleep while I nursed my little wiggler melts away, and I'm left with a prideful feeling of selfishness. He may not have the same responsibility, but neither does he get to reap these little rewards. I am overwhelmed with joy.
She moves a little and I put her pacifier in her mouth. She immediately relaxes again. She's so little. I can fit her against me so perfectly. But she's also so much bigger than ever. 7 months old. It's felt like no time at all. And it's felt like forever. I can't believe there was a time when I slept through the night and didn't get to hold this warm, soft, sweet-smelling bundle against me for a few moments of joy. My heart swells with love. Do I have to put her back in her crib? Her hair is so soft. And her body is so snuggly. Can't I drift off with her right here, tucked against my tummy?
But she twists a little and lets out a quiet fussy noise, and I know we both sleep better on our own, So I nestle her against me and, with my whole core, I crunch up in a smooth and fluid motion, holding my breath so I don't grunt. Moving a sleeping baby is a dangerous game, but I have been doing this multiple times a night, every night, since she was 5 months old. It's a skill I have almost perfected.
When she's relaxed like this, she feels like she weighs nothing and I could hold her all night long, but I carry her into her always-too-dark bedroom and lay her down in her crib. Her arms flop up around her ears and her head turns to the side. She won't move until she begins to wake up for her next feeding. I tuck her blankets around her and kiss my hand and touch her little head with it. I don't think it matters how many times I do this, I'm always so overwhelmed with love when I see her sleeping so peacefully. I did this. I think to myself. I took a fussy baby and put her back to sleep. It's a pretty cool feeling.
I return to my room and lay down. I'll fall asleep quickly. It's been a long day that was proceeded by a long night and a long day before that. This won't be the last time I have to crawl out of bed to calm my fussy child. But for now, I'll get some well-deserved sleep.
Beautiful <3
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