Sunday, September 01, 2002
Heather: I just got Madeleine to sleep a little while ago.
This is the third night in a row she's fallen asleep in my arms but not nursing. Part of me is relieved by that, as I know intellectually that she's physically ready to be weaning and she needs to learn not to have that way of falling asleep. She nurses for a little while and then shifts position so that she's cuddled against me, her head resting somewhere on my chest. I think she's listening to my heartbeat.
She's a beautiful little girl. I love feeling her weight change from the waking lightness the the sleeping heaviness; I love holding her close and feeling that she's trying to tell me she loves me; I love listening to her breath go smooth and even with the occasional snort or sigh.
We tried letting her cry it out... once. We couldn't take it. Part of me is burdened by having to put her down every evening; I miss my TV shows and can't get any chores done during that time. I suppose that is part of motherhood, like not being able to bathroom in privacy anymore (she comes looking for me). It's sort of like having a stalker, only one whom you know won't hurt you when she finds you but will only wail until she does.
Another, larger part of me cherishes those quiet minutes in the dark, feeling her warm body go limp with sleep, watching her eyelids droop closed. I study her angelic face in the semidarkness every night and almost weep for the times when it won't happen anymore. She is growing so quickly and our next one is coming sooner than we realize.
God grant us the knowledge to be good parents and not make our first feel usurped or replaced, for I can't imagine loving another child like I love Madeleine.
This is the third night in a row she's fallen asleep in my arms but not nursing. Part of me is relieved by that, as I know intellectually that she's physically ready to be weaning and she needs to learn not to have that way of falling asleep. She nurses for a little while and then shifts position so that she's cuddled against me, her head resting somewhere on my chest. I think she's listening to my heartbeat.
She's a beautiful little girl. I love feeling her weight change from the waking lightness the the sleeping heaviness; I love holding her close and feeling that she's trying to tell me she loves me; I love listening to her breath go smooth and even with the occasional snort or sigh.
We tried letting her cry it out... once. We couldn't take it. Part of me is burdened by having to put her down every evening; I miss my TV shows and can't get any chores done during that time. I suppose that is part of motherhood, like not being able to bathroom in privacy anymore (she comes looking for me). It's sort of like having a stalker, only one whom you know won't hurt you when she finds you but will only wail until she does.
Another, larger part of me cherishes those quiet minutes in the dark, feeling her warm body go limp with sleep, watching her eyelids droop closed. I study her angelic face in the semidarkness every night and almost weep for the times when it won't happen anymore. She is growing so quickly and our next one is coming sooner than we realize.
God grant us the knowledge to be good parents and not make our first feel usurped or replaced, for I can't imagine loving another child like I love Madeleine.
