I stayed up late the other night -- so, you know, it was about 10 p.m. -- and when I finally did lay my head on my pillow, my mind wouldn't stop. Interview-heavy days at work always do that to me. You talk to enough people, and your mind just buzzes with all the new information. It must be what over-stimulated infants feel like.
As I lay in the darkness, listening to my husband's sleepy breathing, I heard The Lad snuffling in his crib. He wasn't squawking. He might have settled himself back to sleep. But I was up and went to nurse him, hoping to stave off a feeding in the wee morning hours.
I settled into the rocker and watched his mouth work. The nightlight illuminated the fuzzy curve of The Lad's head. His fingers rubbed my arm in rhythm to his sucking. I heard The Boy flop in his bed across the hall and the cat yowl as she pounced a toy mouse. When I changed The Lad mid-feeding, he opened his eyes for the first time and, seeing my face, grinned wide, his dimples showing. We finished up and I snuggled him under my chin for just a minute before settling him back into the crib.
My only thought as I returned to bed, before I slipped easily into sleep, was to wonder who got more out of these night feedings: Me or The Lad.
P.S. Happy birthday, Michelle!