Sleeping or Lack Thereof

I awake slowly from a deep sleep from a nudge from Eric. "You have to feed him tonight, I have a 6:30 am flight," he whispers before he turns his head away from me. I don't say a word but clumsily drag myself out of my warm bed one leg at a time all the while being serenaded to the quiet scream cry of my son, only two months old.

My feet touch the cold floor for a second before they walk through my soft shag rug near the door. I reach the stairs and try not to make a sound as I sneak down the fourteen steps in an effort to not wake my girls who have school the morning. As I cross the dining room lit only by the moonlight and I start to curse the fact the nursing didn't turn out as planned. So much easier in the middle of the night, I say to myself as I simultaneously try to squash the mommy guilt and remind myself that it is not my fault.

I make it to the corner of the kitchen that has the bottle making supplies. I am finally somewhat conscience at this point and hurry to make the magic mixture that will sooth my crying baby. Not willing to turn on the light and awake myself fully, I am guided by the moonlight and try to make the bottle without spilling. I tighten the lid to the bottle and give it a good shake the whole way back up the high stairs.

My legs are tired and still feel half asleep and each stair makes it feel as if I am rock climbing. His small cry gets louder as I get closer to his room, I calmly say, "Mommy's here, Jake" as I set down the bottle and pick up a diaper to change him before his feeding. His cry is broken now, he knows my routine.

After he is dry, I lift him into my arms. He still lifts his legs up as if he is trying to become small enough to fit inside my womb again. This behavior has earned him the nickname "little football". He is calm now, he knows it's time.

I walk him back to my room, sit on the bed and get him comfortable in my arms. I use my index finger to find his mouth and insert the bottle. He feverishly starts drinking from it and as usual starts to coo noisily in between each sip. This sound wakes his dad, so Eric reaches over to pat Jake's head to say hello before he drifts back off to the coveted REM sleep. Jake's body starts to relax in my arms, and the more relaxed he is the lower I sink into my pillow while cradling him as close as I can.

He reaches up and grabs my thumb, his small hand is only about half the size of that finger. He squeezes it over and over as if he is trying to give me Morse code. As the minutes get longer his body gets heavier as he descend deeper into the crevasse of my arms. He is asleep again, before his bottle is finished.

I stare at him in the moonlight and soak in the peace and quiet of the night. I am tired, but this little man can rejuvenate me. I want to remember everything about him. Experience has taught me how fast this time moves and few things are more precious than to watch a infant sleep. I lean over to kiss his head and catch a whiff of his baby smell. The unmistakable baby essence that is my baby Jake knowing that it won't be there forever.

I need to put him back in his own crib before I fall asleep again, but it takes more effort to get out of bed this time. I shuffle my feet over the cold floor, through the shag rug, down the short hall to to his crib, and gently lay him down in his own crib. The transition startles him as he wakes again. His arms shoot up immediately as he stretches his whole body out of his "football shape". He leaves his arms there in utter exhaustion as he slips back to dreamland. Right before I hear him breathing heavy he flashes a smile.

I smile back at him.