She fights sleep. Always has. I'm afraid she always will.
Sometimes I can't wait for naptime.
For some time to get things I need to get done. Some time to get things I want to get done.
As I rock my tired baby, I sit and contemplate these things.
While she fights.
I sometimes beg her out loud to give in. "Sleep, baby girl. You are exhausted. You'll be much happier after a good, long nap. And Mama can get some things done. A win, win."
She eventually gives in. At least she usually does.
And she is still.
And I sit there watching her, and think about the dishwasher that needs emptying.
The floors that need mopping.
And the toilets that need scrubbing.
I think about the list of thank-you notes I still have to write.
And the stack of medical bills I need to pay.
I watch her chest rise and fall.
And listen to the sound of each breath.
I remember the calls I have to return.
The laundry thats piled high.
And the dinner I promised to make.
I kiss her head.
I run my hand across her cheek.
Then I lay down beside her and breathe in her scent..
And listen to her little sounds.
And I just can't wait for her to wake up.