Oh, Baby!

I'm woken up by crying from the bassinet beside my bed. J. is gone for the weekend, so I feel my way to the bedroom door. I shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, making sure not to trip over the dog, who is curled up outside Kelly's bedroom door. I hold the baby bottle next to the nightlight so I can read the graduations without turning on the blinding lights over the sink.

Back in my room, I turn my bedside lamp to the dimmest setting and gather my diaper-changing supplies. Natalie starts protesting as soon as the first snap on her sleeper is undone. I want to get through this quickly, but my arms are heavy and slow to respond.

Finally I prop my pillow against the headboard and lean back to feed her. I find a channel that's not showing infomercials and settle in for a 30-minute feeding. She usually finishes right before the resolution of whatever program I've found to watch. I have to decide whether to stay up a bit longer or go to bed without seeing how it ends.

After nearly an hour I can finally lay her back in the bassinet and turn out the light. "Has it really only been six weeks?" I think wearily, as I close my eyes and try to reclaim the dream I didn't get to finish.

***

The morning passes quickly; the afternoon, slowly. Whoever said that babies this young can't be spoiled has fraudulent credentials.

Periodically during the day, I put Natalie down -- usually for silly things like feeding my other kids or breaking up a wrestling match between child and dog. Within a minute the crying begins. At first, it's a plaintive, "woe is me" sobbing. If that fails to bring some sympathetic soul running to her rescue, she becomes angry. Her crying shifts to something between "how dare you?" and "someone will pay!"

I pick her back up once I've finished my task. She nestles against my chest and gazes contentedly around the room. She's also beginning to wave her arms and kick her feet, and she's happy to show off her new skills.

Soon it's time for a bottle. Once she has a clean bottom and a full belly, she's ready for a nap. She gets restless and fussy on my lap. I offer her a pacifier. (I found some adorable ones -- and expensive, as far as pacifiers go -- online and bought her a couple. My mom bought her a couple more. It should surprise no one, then, that Natalie has elected to be a thumb-sucker.) She turns her head from the pacifier and sucks determinedly at the side of her fist.

I hold her until she's sound asleep, unresponsive to noise or movement. Then I gently lower her into the bassinet on her playpen. I lay her on a soft blanket and tuck another around her legs. I tiptoe away.

From the corner of my eye, I see movement. A little foot kicking inside the playpen. A hand raised into the air. I walk over and find Natalie wide-eyed, staring at the mobile over her head. I know I should leave her there. And I want to. But I don't. I pick her up and snuggle her against me. She promptly falls back asleep. We repeat this dance a few times before I give up and settle into the recliner with her asleep in my arms.

Eventually, she wakes up without a sound. I look down to check on her, only to find her awake and looking at up me.

"Did you have a good nap?" I coo at her, tracing my finger along her chin. She waves her fists and gives me a big gummy grin. Her smile makes me forget the sleepless nights, makes me want to never put her down . . . makes me wonder how we ever got along without her.

I kiss her forehead. Has it really been only six weeks?