Daisy & I (and our dog, Casey) are staying with my parents for a few weeks while we transition the move up to Northern California. While J needed to move up north immediately to start his new job, I needed to stay back and finish the semester and help finalize the last of the move.
Daisy has always slept in her crib. From night one. In fact, I can only remember a handful of times she slept with us in our bed. Occasionally for an hour or two in the early morning hours when she was still nursing, but never for a whole night. When we traveled to a hotel or grandparents houses, she always slept in a pack n’ play or portable crib. Until recently. Recently, she has decided that pack ‘n plays are a thing of pure evil. So, during this period of transition she has started sleeping with me. Lately, she has been so thoroughly exhausted from the day that when she falls asleep for the night, nothing can rouse her. After she falls asleep, I transfer her from my dad’s arms to the bed in my childhood room, and I spent an hour or two catching up on emails, grading papers, and talking to J before I tiptoe softly into the bedroom.
I use the flashlight to root around for my pajamas, smother my lips in chapstick, and pull out my book before snuggling up next to my girl. And, last night I snapped a picture to remember this time by.
While Daisy will sleep in her own space, and in her own room once we officially move up north, I have developed a new appreciation for co-sleeping. After taking this snapshot, I crawled in bed with her, tousled her hair, kissed her head and whispered sweet nothings.
I love to smell her freshly washed hair in the middle of the night. I love hearing her wake up and say “hi mamma” – even if its before dawn breaks. I love seeing her little hands clenched around the silk lining of her green blanket. There is, of course, a part of me that very much looks forward to reclaiming a full half bed to myself, and sleeping next to my husband again. But there is an even greater part of me that will miss falling asleep without a baby pressed against my back or nestled into my neck.