Baby June falls asleep in my arms every day. When it happens, I feel frozen in time. I revel in the minutes. I could probably put her down (she's a sound sleeper, a calm baby, and would doze off on the tiled floor if I let her), but I don't. Newborns do not last forever, and I have learned that lesson twice. When she wakes up at 2:30 or 3 in the morning, I am not getting out of bed with a smile on my face, but I am getting out of bed all the same, and I am at peace with rocking my baby for forty minutes, while she nurses and drifts back off. I wait until she's sound asleep in my arms before relocating her to the crib. It is a precious time, those forty minutes. During the last half, the people I love the most are all sleeping soundly and I am awake, soaking it all in.
She has started smiling a little. It is mostly at the top of my head, where she can see the contrast of my dark on the bright white ceiling. It's so small and sweet. Baby June is happy.
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