It’s been three weeks and three days and one hour and three minutes since my world changed incredibly.
She was born three weeks, three days, one hour and three minutes ago. I do the math quickly as I press my phone into action, wondering how long I’ve been laying in bed with her cuddled to my chest. Thirty minutes. Ok, this isn’t working.
But I’m in bed.
Dad – her Dad. Text him downstairs.
Will you come get her?
He’s there, quickly, takes her lovingly.
It makes my heart bigger watching the way that he loves her.
And then, I’m asleep.
I need sleep.
Forget the guilt of stopping/quitting/ending breastfeeding.
Forget the way her warm little head feels cuddled to my chest – for now.
I wake startled and it’s 4:01 a.m.
Six hours? Six hours. Six hours!
My mind races – is Jon upset that I slept so long? Has my baby needed her Mom and I’ve slept through it? Why has Jon let me sleep so long?
Downstairs and they’re both awake, having a 4 a.m. snack.
Aren’t you coming to bed? Have you slept? Do you want me to take her? You let me sleep for six hours straight…that hasn’t happened for me since before October 13.
Walking back to bed, I smell her forehead, and touch her ears. I hold her close to me and cuddle my girl. I have to be awake in two hours and today, this moment, this morning, I love 4 a.m. in a way I haven’t before in my life.