Maybe something scared her, maybe she has a pain, maybe she’s hungry.
Perhaps a fly farted next to her head.
Snuggling up with her in bed in an attempt to get her back to sleep – sometimes successfully – others resulting in her beating the shit out of me and pulling my hair until I relent again.
Bringing her downstairs (sometimes muttering profanities to myself en-route) so she can stretch out on the play mat for a while.
Her smiling at me innocently while I try to keep my eyes open and think of my distant and beloved duvet.
These late night/early morning wake ups always end the same way.
Curling up under a blanket together on the armchair so I can feed her to sleep.
As I watch her relax and close her little eyes, I can’t help but smile – just a bit – despite being so tired, she’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.
I know there’ll come a time all too soon, where (as they did with her sister) our middle of the night cuddles will stop.
She’ll need me less and less. While the prospect of more sleep is marvellous – it makes me feel sad.
There’ll come a time where I’ll see a mum with a young baby and think of these nights fondly.
Of course I’ll smirk like a smug git knowing that I’m going to get some sleep – but part of me will miss this.
I know that tomorrow I’ll be tired again and I’ll resist the urge to high five Dan in the face with a chair when he asks why I’m ‘being a dick’ for the third time as I’m not a conversational wizard after such rubbish sleep.
I’ll play with paw patrol figures, throw the girls around to get those big belly laughs we love so much and get through the day until it all starts again.
She’s snoring now, I’m wide awake. The tv has decided to fall silent so the ability to lip read would be handy 👍🏻