It's only by the soft glow of the bathroom nightlight that I see his mouth open and head turn back and forth, back and forth, eyes still closed, like a baby bird waiting for its mother to fill his mouth with food.
I thought by this point in toddlerhood that we'd be finished with this whole waking-up-to-nurse-during-the-night thing.
I have apparently underestimated the plans of a certain toddler, though, because every night, as surely as the moon rises in the darkened spring sky, I rise as well to nurse my not-so-baby baby.
And I find myself continuing because he is my baby.
Because even though I'm oh-so tired some mornings, and I'm oh-so ready for a solid eight hours of sleep most nights, I've yet to become ready for him to morph into something other than my baby.
So we wake. We nurse. And I bask in these last few moments of his fleeting babyness. Because I know we won't be waking up together anymore, like this, soon enough.
That's time! I have so much more emotion pumping through my heart about this one -- so much more conflict in my head; five minute just won't do it justice. But those are the rules for Five-Minute Friday posts-- write for five minutes straight with reckless abandon for grammar or style of writing the right way.
This week's Five-Minute Friday prompt at The Gypsy Mama was Waking Up.