Watching her sleep

This child, she spoils me. She sleeps very much not like a baby, or at least not like my other babies, which is to say that she sleeps Very Well Indeed.

When she's tired, she cries her tired cry. I change her, nurse her, lay her down, leave the room.

And then she goes to sleep.

Mind. Blown.

Oh, I know it might all change in a couple of months. I remember that shift with my second baby, when Mommy became a more needed presence and sleep came with more difficulty for a while. It happens, I'm okay with that. But so far I've just been marveling at how very simple sleep is with her.

It sounds lovely, but goodness. Would you believe a part of me feels like I'm missing out?

She fell asleep in my arms yesterday. She hasn't done that in weeks, weeks that somehow feel like months. She fell asleep and I just stared at her, right there, a drop of milk sliding down her cheek. Her beautiful ribbon lips, her perfect little nose, her sweet baby hands, thumb red and dry because she's a thumb sucker, my very first, it feels like an odd little milestone for me.

And I just held her. The weight of her in my arms and the warmth of her against my chest felt so unbelievably perfect. How many naps had she contentedly slept through on her own? How many naps had I missed holding her through?

Tonight I couldn't bring myself to leave. I settled in next to her, our old evening routine, and I stayed as she fell asleep. She's here now and I keep looking at her, watching her, the steady rise and fall of her chest as she breaths. She looks so peaceful. So perfect.

I know to be grateful for her ease of sleep. I know to cherish those times when I can focus on my boys, so full of energy and imagination. I know I'll still be standing beside her bed listening to her breathe for years to come, just as I do with her brothers, and I'm not really running out of time as quickly as it feels.

But right now, tonight, I just want to watch her sleep.