It is very late. After the last little sucking motions of his tongue I know. All my efforts to soothe, console, and lull have been met with sweet success.
I carefully lift his little head out of the crook of my arm which is now practically numb. I tuck soft folds of bedding beside his little tummy, Then I tighten my abdomen to lift myself off the mattress without jostling the sleeping infant. I can finally get ready for bed.
After completing my hygiene routine I tread softly back into our bedroom. I quietly slip the covers from Bill’s side of the bed and begin to slither between Bill and our slumbering baby. I am stealthy as I become like the air between the bed linens and my husband’s body. It is not unlike disarming a missile. Or, as Bill artfully describes it, like a hot dog rolling itself into a closed bun. No matter, I am relieved when my gymnastics are over and I am nestled against my husband’s shoulder and our son is still asleep.
I want to celebrate my victory. I want to talk until the wee hours of the morning. I want to listen to guitar instrumentals. I want to kiss a little…or a lot! I raise my head off Bill’s shoulder and look at his gentle peaceful face. The reality hits me like a cold shower.
He is asleep.