The sun was setting. I prayed for it to slow down. As soon as the world became dark my anxiety would appear. As the sun dipped behind the trees, I prepared myself for the night ahead of me. Would it be another endless night? Or would the universe cut me a break and give me just a few hours.
My baby was born in December, dead smack in the middle of the holidays. The nights were long, 6 pm came all too fast and 7 am never seemed like it would come. I was exclusively breastfeeding so we were up every two hours for the first month. Once I came too, around six weeks postpartum, Asher would sleep about 3-4 hours if I was lucky. I prayed for those nights. It wasn’t the waking up to nurse that got me, it was the waking up to nurse and then him not falling asleep. I would try my hardest to get him down and by the time he dozed off, it was time for another feeding.
But we all know that this is motherhood. This post isn’t about that.
The sun started dropping. I could see the trees in my backyard turning into just the outline of a picture. The world turned dark. I laid on the couch after eating my last meal. My husband had rocked the baby to sleep as I got ready for bed, (that’s what the first four months of motherhood looked like for me) then we would do our trade off and I would spend the night on the couch with him on my chest.
Now let me just note that I wasn’t going to be that mother. I told one too many people that I would NEVER co-sleep. Until the time came and co-sleeping was the only option. My son refused to be put down. He wouldn’t even make it to the bassinet before he was screaming. My husband and I alternated hours staying up holding him, fighting the urge to just pull him into bed with us. Until one night I was on my shift and I fell asleep sitting up on the couch and low-and-behold I woke up hours later to a still sleeping baby.
So we chose sleep.
It was just like every night. My husband was great at putting him down to sleep. We did the trade-off and I laid down. Some nights I would leave the television on but this night I forced my mind to shut off and I went to sleep.
One am rolled around and he started to stir.
We had a routine. I would nurse him and pump at the same time. He would normally fall asleep and I would put him on my shoulder and go clean the pump in the kitchen. On the perfect nights, he would stay asleep the entire time and I would come back to the couch and I’d try to fall back asleep.
Tonight was one of those perfect nights. He was asleep on my shoulder. I could feel his little warm breathe on my cheek. I pulled him down into my arms and cradled him but this time I didn’t lay back down, this time I was taken back by an overwhelming feeling of awe.
I stared down at him. His face was flawless without a scratch or blemish, his eyes perfectly shut, with his beautiful long eyelashes. The light of the tv lit up his face and his little body rose and fell with each breath and in turn, he took my breath away.
The world was silent. Everything was dark and the only thing in this moment was me and him. It didn’t matter if he woke me up every night for the rest of my life if I could have this moment forever.
Nights like these made every tear, every feeling of anxiety and frustration, every “I can’t make it one more night” all make sense. Motherhood isn’t for the weak. It will push you to the point of complete exhaustion where you think you just can’t make it another second. But this, this moment is your reward.
So even though I know I should be getting my sleep while he does, I won’t. I will stay up a little longer and pray I can remember every inch of his face just like this. Maybe it’ll make tomorrow a little easier, or maybe it won’t, but these days will end and these silent nights will be gone and I refuse to forget what it feels like when the only things in the world were me and my sweet boy.
Because mama, these nights are long, oh so long, and these days may feel like years but when they’re gone the memory of these moments are all that will be left š
