Sleep baby, sleep.

She turned 18 months old this week. But sometimes, when I’m very lucky, she still falls asleep nursing. Other nights it’s daddy who helps her with bedtime. Most nights she still wakes up once, maybe twice, and needs a little comforting. I hold her to my chest, I sway, and I sing. I feel the tension from waking up drain out of her as she clings to my shoulder. Then slowly, gradually, the weight in her head grows, her arms drape instead of cling, and she slips back into sleep.

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She is, in so many ways, a toddler. She wants to do things herself. She dresses up with hats and bracelets. She climbs and runs and tumbles and squeals. These nights, these times when she still clings to her baby-ways, they might seem inconvenient on the surface. I could be doing so many other things with my precious hours before my own bedtime. But between daycare and sleep I already see so little of her each day. I will continue to help her whenever she needs me. The hours may seem long, but already I can tell the months and years are short.

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Oh dear, what can the matter be?
Dear dear, what can the matter be?
Oh dear, what can the matter be?
What can the matter be, dear?

I promise I’ll buy you,
a pocket of posies,
a bouquet of flowers,
a garland of roses.
I promise I’ll buy you,
a bonny blue ribbon,
to tie up your dusty blonde hair.

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2 responses to “Sleep baby, sleep.

  1. wise words . . .

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