Refuge

A wisp of hair brushes my nose, softly tickling it. It's endearing though uncomfortable, but I dare not shift. Instead, I resist the urge to brush away your hair, and I stay as still as possible.

I forgot to take out your ponytail tonight, the same little nub of hair that enchants everyone you meet. You were oh-so-tired tonight, exhausted after a full day with only two short naps. Those two 15 minute spurts of sleep weren't nearly enough to satisfy the needs of your growing body. You screamed in exhaustion as Daddy changed your diaper; you cried in frustration as I snapped up your pajamas. "I know, I know," I murmured, in my feeble attempt to sooth you. I knew you wouldn't be soothed until we were in your comfort zone. In my arms, rocking in our chair, nursing as you drift off to sleep.

You delight me, oh, you delight me! My heart aches with love for you. I want to give you everything. My heart aches that I cannot give you everything.

I can give you love. And while you're in my arms, I can give you safety. I wish I could keep you in my arms. I wish I could keep you safe. I know this world too well.

You fell asleep nursing, like you have done every night of your nearly one year of existence. I had to take you off of my breast once you started biting, like you like to do, and you were unhappy for a few moments. But you love music, so you calmed once I started singing lullabies. You nestled your head in my collarbone, pressing your ear against my chest. I imagine the vibrations of my singing voice carrying you as you drift off into sleep.

I can smell you. You still smell like a baby, and you are still a baby. But only for a little while longer. Your hair is slightly sweaty from the fight you put up earlier as Daddy and I prepared you for bed. The curls are damp against my cheek. You smell like innocence.

I'm waiting for your breathing to slow down, until it becomes so faint that I have to pause to make sure it's still there. I'm waiting for that heaviness to overcome you, when your muscles go limp. It takes longer than usual, but that is okay. These nights are numbered because soon, too soon, you will no longer need my assistance when you go to sleep. Even after I can tell you're in a deep sleep, I continue to hold you and rock you, smelling you, feeling you, loving you.

You startle when I stand up to move you to your crib. Your hand grasps my necklace, holding tightly, as though it's saving you from falling through the darkness. So I stand there, rocking you a bit longer, until deep sleep overcomes you yet again.

I hold the weight of the world in my arms, and it's only 16 pounds.