Sometimes in the dark of the night I don’t want to hear your take on what you need. I want sleep. I want to listen to the words of others who speak more clearly.
I don’t want to hold you while we rock. I feel touched out and want sleep badly. Half awake, things sometimes seem as though they make more sense than waking up.
I’ve also had dreams about zombies, long before I started this process of becoming one. One’s mind can do odd things in that place between sleep and wake.
Thank you for not being silent when you need me, and for calling out a little louder until I come to get you.
And then we rock in the night. At first my body is rigid against yours in resistance and your little hands pat against my skin and slowly I melt. This is what is. This is the time that you need me. I find myself kissing your little hands and smelling your head for the millionth time trying to memorize what I know to be elusive. These are the moments I will look back on and wish for in the future when sleep comes every night.
People ask me if you’re a “good” baby. Yes. You are. You’re the best type of baby. You’re the type of baby that makes her needs known and who raises her voice to be heard above the voices of others who speak more clearly.