a mama confession: I'm making a choice.

My baby is ridiculous.

He wants to eat every two hours. He naps erratically. He wakes up every 3 hours at night.

I've spent a lot of time and energy lately feeling really bad about this. I must be doing something wrong. Either that or there is something wrong with Milo. I have four, count them four, books on my coffee table about infant sleep. Most conversations with David begin with, "The book says...maybe we should try...." I keep track of what time he goes to bed, how many times he wakes up each night, how long he's awake. All in a desperate attempt to crack Milo's code. To find any sort of pattern or routine that I can grab on to. I'm tired of feeling tired.

I've been feeling pretty irritable. Resentful. Angry, even. Seriously, Milo, is it THAT hard to get your little booty on a schedule??? Can't you see how exhausted your mama is? Don't you CARE???

And then, recently, I had a break through.

Two things happened. One, I was telling my mom on the phone that we have no schedule. That when Milo is hungry, I feed him. That when he is tired, I put him to bed. That when he wakes up and cries, I go comfort him. And she said, "Tiffany, I think you're doing the right thing. Put down the books. Take more naps."

The other thing that happened is that I was talking to a mama friend of mine who reminded me that This too shall pass. Milo will get bigger. Older. And he WILL start sleeping.

And it got me thinking. Milo will get bigger. He won't be my baby forever. He won't nurse forever. He won't need me in the night forever. And I started to feel sad thinking about him being older.

And I made a choice.

I'm choosing to put down the books. To take more naps. To stop complaining. To stop feeling resentful. To soak up every moment with my needy little baby, who won't need me forever.

And last night as I was rocking my baby to sleep, when all I could hear were the quiet noises of him feeding, and his tiny fingers were wrapped around my thumb, I felt a peace in my heart. And in the dark and quiet, in that liminal space, it felt holy.

And I was very aware that it won't last forever.