The past couple weeks have been a struggle with sleep deprivation. The baby is cutting four teeth and is obviously feeling some discomfort– most noticeably at night (daytime activities must be exciting enough to distract her). Just last month we were almost sleeping through the night and mom and dad were finally starting to feel normal again. Now we (well, mostly I) am up every two hours to comfort her back to sleep. Many times the only thing that will calm her is “mommy time” aka boobs. I know she can’t help it, but it’s still so tough dragging myself out of my warm bed for the third time each night. If I let her “cry it out” we risk waking up big sis…not worth it to have two kids up at 3am.
A former work colleague of mine (before we both quit that soul-sucking place) told me about how he used to rock his daughter to sleep in the middle of the night after his wife finished feeding. He told me how exhausting it was, but that he really cherished that hour each night because he knew that all too soon it would be over.
That really stuck with me– and I find that in this situation now, I feel the same. As tired as I am, my heart melts every time I see her toothy grin peeking through the crib bars, so happy to see me.
When I first pick her up and catch a wisp of that sweet baby smell.
The way she gets heavier in my arms as her tummy gets full. Her eyes slowly close.
The way she rests her head on my shoulder while I burp her, utterly content.
In these little moments, when the house is dark and quiet, she needs mommy, only mommy. One day, all too soon, she won’t need mommy as much anymore. I’ll have my sleep back, but I know a part of me will mourn this time, this precious short time that only she and I share.