Monday, August 9, 2010


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.