It's 1:00 in the morning and I can't bring myself to go to bed. I'm sitting here in the office/baby's room, reading blogs of people I don't even know. Every so often I will hear little grunts and sounds of a squirming little body coming from the sleeping baby in the room. I think that's why I can't leave really.
I want to be with my little baby as much as possible. I spend a whole lot of time lately just hanging out with him. Talking to him, holding him, protecting him from his loving siblings. I don't know why, but tonight especially I just don't want to leave him.
Maybe it's because so many of these random blogs I find are written by women who have had a child die. I think a lot about what it means as a parent to have a child die. I think about how it always feels so out of the ordinary when a child dies, but yet it happens so very often. I remember that it happened even more often not so long ago in history. I reflect on the lives of all of those pioneer women. A woman who had NOT experienced a child's death was certainly the exception then.
I feel so lucky for every day I get with these four of mine. I try not to think about what it would be like without them. But sometimes I just can't help it. It's those times that I find myself in a baby's room at 1 o'clock in the morning, relieved to hear every toss and turn. I dismiss the idea of leaving him for the night to sleep in my own bed, a whole hallway away from him.
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