Roller Coaster

It was 9:45, and I was ready for bed.  But she was still up and couldn't calm herself down.  Jacob kissed me as he went to bed, "Goodnight," he whispered, in the dark room.

I kept rocking... humming a lullaby, but not really present in the moment.  Instead I was wishing I were going to bed at that moment too.  I longed for the day, maybe a year from now, when she goes down at night and falls asleep on her own and sleeps a solid 8 hours.

But then I remembered roller coasters.

When I was a kid and we'd go to the amusement park, I'd ride the roller coasters over and over again - more times than I really wanted - just because I knew it'd be the last time for a while.  When I knew the time to leave was approaching, I'd carefully plot my last few rides to make the most of every moment.

And this is a roller coaster.

There will be a day, not too far down the road, when she won't need or even want me to rock her to sleep.  There will be a day, not too far down the road, when I won't be feeding her in the quiet hours of the night, when I can see the shadows her eyelashes cast on her cheeks and the only sound I hear is the steady cadence of her sucking and swallowing.

And on that day, I'll wish I could take just one more ride on this roller coaster... one more rocking, one more cradling, one more moment at 2 am watching her sleep as she eats.  And I whispered a silent prayer as she finally gave in to sleep, "Help me to soak in every beautiful moment and cease wishing my life away."