. Seasons .

I really enjoy sleep. When I was still living at home, I could sleep until 10:30 or 11, and my parents, bless their hearts, used to say that I probably needed it. They were right. I would stay up late studying or playing on Instant Messenger (ugh - remember those days?!), and then I'd curl up with my stuffed animals and flannel sheets. 

As I transitioned into my adult years, my love of flannel sheets and sleep didn't change. And before Tuck, I'd relish in those Saturday mornings - languidly laying in bed until ten. It was such an indulgence - especially during the winter months, when my schedule seemed to be so, so hectic and my free Saturdays were few and precious and far between.

And then came Tuck and my sweet, sweet Lord, our worlds were turned upside down.

On New Years Eve, I was struggling to keep my eyes open. I sat on a bench in my dad's kitchen and leaned up against the wall of cupboards. One of our friends started talking to me about her daughter and we commiserated a little about the lack of sleep a baby brings. 

She smiled at me - in the patient and loving way that she does with everyone - and said, "I rocked my daughter for 18 months, and the whole time, I thought, 'This season is really short. I really need to pay attention.'" I think I might have smiled back at her, and I might have nodded. Shortly after, I trudged upstairs to bed ... Team Thumann completely missed the big midnight hoopla. But it's stuck with me - her seasons reference. This season is really short.

Seven months into his life, Tuck still isn't sleeping through the night. Typically, he gets up at 3 a.m. and then goes back to bed until 5:30 a.m. or so. I try my hardest not to complain, because really, those moments - those sweet, sweet moments in the quiet stillness of the morning - are some of the best. He is somewhere between awake and asleep and he cuddles into my shoulder before I lay him back in his crib. He mewls and clenches my arms and sometimes, I decide to stay up with him a little longer. I sit in my grandpa's rocker and slowly move forward and backwards, my breathing matching his. 

It won't be long and we'll be enrolling him in preschool, or taking him to football practice. Much too soon, we'll be sitting at his eighth grade graduation, or pinning a flower on his tuxedo for prom. It'll be on those days, when our house is quiet, when he's out with his friends, when I'll surely be picking up his shoes and tossing them back into the closet or making his bed or putting away his clothes - it's then when I'll remember these soft, early mornings, and I will be so, so glad for them. 

xo, B.

PS - They're thinking of changing Nebraska's state motto? You shut your mouth.

---