Dear Baby Lincoln,
Last night was the roughest we've had with you for a while. How many diaper changes did you cry for: 6? 7? I'm pretty sure you even wimpered for one that wasn't wet or dirty! You certainly didn't sleep longer than 2 1/2 hours at a time. Any onlooker would have thought we were playing hot potato with you with the way you went back and forth from your co-sleeper to our bed. If there was a battle of wills over where you ended up, we all know you won: with a victory fist clenched over my breast, and your little body molded fiercely to mine.
Who could blame me from being exhausted, frustrated, and sore from your gnawing/nursing - for losing? I began to let feelings of defeat over the night's ordeals creep into my heart.
But then, just as the sun was peeking through the blinds in our window, and the birds began chirping, beckoning the light - you looked into my eyes through yours: half-open, half-closed. The faint half-sided smile on your lips revealed my dipple in your right cheek. The little hairs on your head lit up in a golden shimmer in the morning glow. I smiled at your little right ear - poking out a little farther than it did yesterday. One more weak smile lifted your lips and your were - at last - asleep.
I'll tell you a little secret son: that two minute moment this morning defeated me more completely than our battle of wills the night before ever could. Remember that and you'll get far.