Nighttime

I sit with him in the dim light of evening
Gently rocking,
Cradling his head as he drinks my milk.
I feel his body slowly go limp,
His eyes grow heavy
As I whisper to him,
I love you
I love you
Go to sleep, my sweet boy.

And sleep he does,
For a little while.
And then,
Just as sleep is finding me,
I hear him stir . . .
And his stirring becomes more insistent
Until I go to him.
I should sit up with him and put him back down
In his own bed,
I think to myself.
But I'm too tired to teach him how to sleep alone.

And so I cradle him next to me,
Feeling the warm weight of him,
Smelling the sweet smell of him,
Listening to his suckling as he drifts off to sleep again.
And I think to myself,
This isn't so bad.

As the night wears on, this scene replays over and over:
He awakens,
He fusses,
I turn over and resettle with him,
But he fusses some more,
Demanding what?
I don't know.
My head hurts,
I only want to sleep.
Please let me sleep,
I tell him.
I offer him my warmth,
My milk,
And finally he settles.
And I think to myself,
This isn't so bad.

How much later,
I don't know
It's the same thing again.
I'm tired
I'm frustrated.
Let me sleep,
I tell him.
We dance the dance again,
And finally he drifts off,
And I think to myself,
I will do anything for you.