Slumber

Overtired, overstimulated and uncomfortable, he clings to the last wakeful moments of his day as if he doesn't understand how to let go and drift into the sleep his body and brain so desperately need.

Against a broad, slowly rising chest he rests a chubby cheek and a tiny curved ear. He is cradled by strong, wide hands -- hands that seem large and steady enough to carry the whole, fragile world if need be.

These are the hands that first welcomed him into this still unfamiliar world and gently ferried him to his mama's breast for comfort. Tonight these hands are convincing him that rest is near and necessary.

A sudden yelp followed by a stream of tired sobs that sound more like a case of hiccups than a cry for help cause me to look up from my reading to see an equally tired little face -- red with puffy, newly opened eyes and a quivering lip.

My heart hurts for him but I know he'll soon be drifting. I force my eyes back to my own work, knowing this is a time when I'm not needed. One of very few such moments during the day.

He's in his papa's arms now. They create a safe, magical space where every tremor of worry wanders far away on the cadence of a slowly beating heart. I know. I've fallen asleep there, too. It's wonderful.

A few tenderly placed pats on the back release painful gas bubbles from a tiny but swollen belly. A pinky finger properly placed against the palate soothes the need to suck. A soft blanket provides warmth.

Soon I recognize silence. I glance up again and see tiny closed eyelids and an open mouth showing a steady, quiet breathing pattern. Sleep has at last overtaken him.

All is right with the world now. We three can rest easy for the night.