It's 2:30am.
I jolt awake to Benjamin's crying from down the hall. He's not screaming; some may not even call it a cry. But he's making noise. And he's my baby. So I get out of my nice warm bed into the cold air of the house and walk down the hall to his room.
At this point, many would say, "Just give him a pacifier," or "Let him put himself back to sleep." But I can't help it. I can't resist. I reach my arms down into his crib and scoop my baby up. I hold him tightly against my chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his own chest, feeling his warmth against my chilly body.
Sometimes, his eyes open at this point and he blinks confusedly at me. Then he registers what's going on and focuses on my face, and I get a flash of that big gummy smile of his. My heart melts. Sometimes, he just stretches and grunts and groans, eyes clamped tightly shut, and still, my heart melts.
I get many critiques for this. "He'll never learn to sleep through the night." "You're creating a bad habit." And these thoughts run through my head as I stand by his crib watching him stir, debating what to do. Do I just give him his pacifier? Do I just have him put himself to sleep? Do I
resist the temptation to feed him? Do I really need to pick him up, hold him, and nurse him?
It's inevitable. The answer is always yes. Yes, I need to hold him, feed him, comfort him back to sleep. It's not because I fear for him being mad, or sad, or uncomfortable. It's not because I don't want to deal with him crying for long periods of time. I don't think he'll starve if I don't nurse him in the middle of the night. No, those are not what I fear.
What I fear, is him growing too fast.
It doesn't matter that I'm exhausted. It doesn't matter that I'd be more comfortable or warmer huddled under the blankets of my bed. What matters is that my baby boy is growing so fast, and I need to hold and cuddle him as much as I can before he's too big to hold and cuddle anymore.
These midnight moments are some of my favorite moments of my day.