Baby Girl

Sweet baby girl.  Here you are, snuggled against me as we rock in the dark.  Your hand gently strokes my wrist while I sing you a lullaby.  I watch as your silhouette rises and falls with every slow breath.  You yawn, so I give you one last squeeze.  I lightly kiss your cheek, lay you in your bed and cover you with your blanket.  “I love you, baby girl,” I whisper, “good night”.  As I close the door behind me, I hear you whisper back, “Ni-ni”.

How far we’ve come, baby girl.  There was a time, not so long ago, that you would not allow me to cuddle you.  Being still was not something you were capable of – suddenly, as if your insides could not rest.  Most nights, you would strain against me, your body rigid for long minutes at a time.  Your back would arch, your arms and legs would become as stiff as boards.  Sometimes, I could not hold your flailing body and would place you in the only safe place I could think of – your crib.  I would lie on the floor beside you, tears trickling down my face as you threw your tiny body against the sides.  On these, our worst nights, you would scream for hours before finally lying still.  Every few minutes your little legs would spasm and I worried, every time, that it was not over.  How I would search you for bruises the next day, sure you were hurt.

Nights were our worst times, baby girl.  All the smiles and laughter of the day were gone when darkness fell.  But now, thankfully, your body can rest.  Finally, I don’t go to bed feeling helpless to soothe you.  

You are well.