I’ve fallen into a routine here where The BF takes FOH around 7-10 {in the morning}.

This means I pump enough for him to do one of the morning feedings before I go to bed. I shouldn’t say, “go to bed.” It’s more like a middle of the night nap.

Who am I kidding? There is no bed or sleep — it’s all naps.

This afternoon, after a quick boob session, FOH fell asleep. As I gently laid him down in his bed, I thought about all the things I could do. The hour reprieve, or however long it was going to be, suddenly seemed so expansive.

I thought about yoga, writing, sitting out on the dock to indulge in a book — and the warm sun — the options felt endless.

Then, just as quickly as FOH had fallen asleep, he woke up. A little fussy. I laid down in our bed, so I was right next to him, reached my hand down, getting ready to rock him.

Instead, his little fingers brushed up against mine and at that instant of touch, I felt his hand clasp over my index finger. My heart flooded with a love so deep and wide, so life altering.

He loves me. I can calm him. I am, somehow, that person of comfort and reassurance  — the one I wasn’t sure I could be. The one Maman is to me. It was then that I truly felt, for the first time, a Mother.

Suddenly the temptation of me time vanished. These were all things that could either happen anytime on any given day or would repeat at some point — like returning to Douglas Lake.

But this … Holding hands with my six week old son while we both slept … This I will never repeat again with him.

How many times will I have this time?

Not nearly enough. But I have it now and that comes first.

Everything else can wait.