Some evenings it snags you
The exhaustion that’s always on your heels
In the past eight weeks, you can count on one hand the times you’ve slept four hours uninterrupted
And have three fingers to spare
But when you hold her in your lap she smiles
And sticks out her tongue
And who cares if she’ll cry for fifteen minutes later and then take an hour to fall asleep?
You put her on her playmat and she rolls from stomach to back
An accident or another milestone
Either way, it’s a small miracle
Unlike these mundane specters
–You’re tired, you want to shower
You wish she would sleep–
Like flies buzzing around something holy
It’s all part of the melody
A symphony of time passing you by too quickly
And one day you’ll wake up at two a.m.
And wish you could still hold her in your arms
With Love,
Natalie