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His head on my shoulder, the weight of his body against me, warm and soft. I’ve got to get that tummy settled before I lay him down.
I squint at the news or chuckle at something funny, quietly. I often think to myself that I should record the voice of Peter Mansbridge or Jon Stewart as they might forever be his sleep cues.
I put him down beside me and his eyelids drop in the flickering darkness.
Eventually I too drift off, and will wake up at some point to turn off the television, fumbling for the remote.
Otherwise we sleep soundly, warmly.
I know I could put him to bed in his crib earlier but I’ve never even tried to. I know I ‘should’ be letting him sleep on his own. But I’m savouring these moments like I never did before, knowing that he’s definitely the last baby. Co-sleeping seemed like a necessary evil with the other two – the one thing that got them to sleep a decent amount of time at night. This time, it’s my indulgence. I’m being selfish.
Sometimes I just lay there and gaze at him for a while. He’s wondrous.
The days revolve around everyone else – he gets schlepped to and from school, he gets taken to run errands, he gets ignored so I can cook dinner/read a book/whatever. But the nights are ours. My nights are his. It’s almost too bad that we spend most of it sleeping.
Cross posted on my personal blog: http://herebewillers.com/2012/01/by-the-flicker-of-the-television-light/
