This morning's gift

It's no secret to those who know me well that I love to sleep. Love it. LOOOVE it. The best part of sleep, to me, is sleeping in. I love waking slowly, restfully, quietly.

That has all stopped since Lillian Grace came into the world.

I've been trying to live in the moment. I've been trying to love taking care of her, and most days I do. But I miss my sleep.

I suppose you can blame it on this bleak midwinter, but I've found myself missing more than sleep lately. Dare I even admit it? I've missed those days when I was free to do what I wanted, when I wanted; days when no one else controlled my schedule but me. I've missed my awesome career. I've missed the freedom to run into Ann Taylor and buy whatever I want. I've missed hanging out on a Friday night without worrying about finding a babysitter.

And so, when Lillian woke this morning altogether too early, I thought of all those things I've missed lately. And I wished for just a few moments more of sleep. But she was wide awake, looking for some play time and conversation. I tried to humor her as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.

But after about 20 minutes of play time, something crazy happened...she rubbed her eyes. She yawned. She pawed gently at me--the sure sign of "feed me, rock me, and let me sleep"--I couldn't believe it; I thought maybe she was faking me out. So I didn't even swaddle her, I just cradled her in my arms as I finished my cereal and opened the lap top computer.

I held her closely and rocked her a little as I did my morning blog check. By the time I was halfway through Nienie's latest post, Lillian was fast asleep in my arms. I took a long look at her: that beautiful, almost translucent pink skin, that beautiful mouth, those sweet fingers curled around mine.

I closed the computer. I wrapped both arms around her. I closed out the thought of the dirty dishes and laundry waiting for me. We went back to my bed and I snuggled back into my pillow. I closed my eyes, and we slept. We woke gently and quietly, just she and I, as the sunlight streamed in the window.

I forgot about what I missed. I remembered what I've been given.

And for as long as the moment would allow, I basked in the quiet glory of motherhood.