Night feedings

I am jolted awake with the sound of a cry from the other room. Quickly I turn to the red numbers glowing on my digital clock and do the mental calculation of how long it's been since I was last up. 2:23am. That's three and a half hours since the last feeding. Not bad. I shuffle to Kara's room, which is softly illuminated by the moon night light next to the dresser. "Hi you," I say. "It's okay, we'll get you fed." Her body is soft and warm, but her feet are cool; she's kicked off her blanket again. Her small eyes are open in the darkness, but close again as I hold her against my shoulder. We sit down in the comfy Ikea chair, a purchase I am thankful for every night. I close my eyes and try to remain as close to sleep as possible while Kara nurses. But I can't resist peering down at her soft downy head, stroking her hand, and being dazzled again by her pure babyness. The fan whirs softly in the background; I turn it towards us if it's hot, and ponder - as I do nightly - the miracle of a baby, this baby, my baby. Now it's time to burp her, and maybe change her diaper. We both fall asleep for a minute as she rests again on my shoulder, the rhythmic patting lulling the two of us under. Then it's time to wrap her tightly, lay her in the crib, and pad back to bed. "Night, night, Kara." Sleep envelops me quickly, for which I'm grateful, because I know I have three hours or less until I'm summoned again by Kara's hungry cry.