I love watching him sleep.
Even on the worst days, when I am so worn out my bones are literally aching and the day has stripped me of my sense of humor, my grace, and my ability to form logical thoughts into intelligible sentences, I crawl into bed and lay down next to O and see his pudgy hands formed into loose fits, fingers wrinkled with fat, and I put my face next to his so I can feel his soft cool breath and smell it’s faint sweetness, like the way the earth smells after it’s rained in spring. I stare at him for a long time before I fall asleep…
Sometimes as I am getting into bed, he barely opens his eyes, when he sees it’s me, he smiles a sleepy smile, closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.
Sometimes he snores like his papa.
When I am waking up for the fourth, fifth, sixth time in the night to soothe him back to sleep, I like to remember these sweet moments because sometimes my love seems endless, my patience bottomless, and sometimes I am so f*ing tired I want to scream.