Dear Reese,
It’s ten minutes to midnight when you scream. I am still awake — too many thoughts or too much caffeine — but barely. You are okay, I think, I hope as I jump out of bed. You just need me.
I stand and hold you in the dark, quietly singing an old camp song while I sway back and forth. You keep lifting your head off my shoulder and then putting it down again, exhausted.
You cry when I put you down, but I lean over the crib and rub your back until you fall asleep. My back hurts doing this, but if you spend a night beside me in bed, neither of us will feel rested in the morning.
It’s a miracle you don’t wake when I sneak back into the hall. You sleep another seven hours. When I wake you up with sunlight, you stretch and smile.
Love,
Mama