Monday, August 9, 2010

Sleep

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.



And refilling.



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.