The hubby and I often fantasize about sleep.  Sweet, sweet sleep…  An uninterrupted eight hours of blissful shut-eye…

But, you know what?  These days, I don’t really mind getting up with my little girl at 4:00 in the morning. I groan as I hear her cries floating from the other room, mentally willing her to just go back to sleep.  I sigh as I roll out of bed.  Now that it is getting colder leaving my warm bed carries even more of a sting than it did before, and I groan again.

I stumble into my baby’s room, one eye barely cracked as I approach the crib, where she is standing with arms outreached for me.  I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but scoop her up with her beloved blankie and sit down to rock her in the dark.

It’s a rare and precious moment.  She is still- something that never happens through the course of the day anymore.  I cuddle her, my arms full of baby.  I look at her long legs draped across my lap, her feet dangling off the edge, and I think about how she used to fit on just one arm of mine.

We rock quietly, and I can hear her give a deep and contented sigh.  Her soft body rises and falls with her breaths, and without realizing it I rock to the rythm of her breathing.

When I can tell she is good and sleepy, I carefully stand up to place her in her crib, whispering “night-night” to her again before I tip-toe out.

As I slide back under my comforter, I feel relieved that she is asleep and cross my fingers she will stay in that state for a few more hours.  At the same time though, I am grateful for the peaceful moment spent together in the dark.  I feel a warmth spread through me as I recall her long eyelashes resting on her cheeks, the shape of her mouth as she drifts to sleep.

Sometimes, when she does sleep through the night, I miss her.

She won’t need me for much longer.  Eventually she will be a “big girl”.  Independent, unafraid, and happy to be on her own.  And when that happens, I will probably lie awake at night, wishing I could go in to cuddle her in the quiet darkness.