I wake up because I hear your little babbles from the bassinet near my bedside. "Bah bah bah," your babbles slowly get louder and louder—I hope it's because you are counting sheep to fall back to sleep (hence the "bahhh"), but it's highly unlikely.

You are having a late-night conversation with me. My everything is too tired to participate, though my heart knows it's time for me to check out why you woke up, forcing my sleep-ridden body to climb out of bed.

My husband lies to my other side. He doesn't move or notice your loud babbles. Oh, some men. I laugh at the way he plays dead. I look at my iPhone that flickers 2 am. "You have to be kidding me," I say mid-yawn.

I just dream fed you at 11 pm. How could your 7-month-old body still be hungry? Growth spurt? Or is it your teeth trying to break through your soft gums torturing both of us? Because I hate to see you in pain even more than the tiredness that comes from these wakeful nights. And gosh I will miss that gummy smile if your teeth are the culprit.

Your babbles get even louder "BAH BAH BAH." (Those sheep must be having a full-on rager!)

I get up and look into your sweet baby browns.

"What's going on sweet girl?" I say and you smile at me so big and bright, with that magical twinkle in your eye. I can't help but smile back at your happiness.

I lift you, taking you down the hall to the playroom where I feed you daily. I marvel at how I can hold you on my left hip. Not long ago your head had to be fully supported as you were cradled in my arms. We bounce down the hall in the dark—silence and the beat of the heater fill our house. You feel so good on my side—you are no longer delicate and dainty.

I feed you your bottle and listen to your little noises, those tiny gulps and grunts, while staring into your eyes.

As much as I don't love the exhaustion that comes with these hour-and-a-half middle-of-the-night wake-ups over the past couple of weeks—it is our time. It's the only alone time we get. As tired as I am each day because I have your big sister to take care of, too—I will always treasure this time.

This time, just you and me.

Your sister is demanding with my attention. She is the spice to your sweet and sugary. She demands the spotlight—a lot of the time taking it from you without even meaning to. She's still a little jealous of you. Baby girl, this is my way of apologizing on her behalf.

This time, just you and me.

The only other time in your life we were alone was hard. You were born a month early and found yourself in the NICU for the first two weeks of your life. It broke my heart to leave the hospital without you.

Those two weeks I had to leave you in someone else's hands was so tough. Granted those hands were great, capable ones—but they weren't my own hands. My hands that love you more than anything on this earth. I don't think anyone else in this world besides your father can say that.

Now here we are, me and you, alone again. You, still in my hands, but now much bigger. You are not the delicate little baby I held in the NICU—swaddled up to keep your little body warm. You keep getting bigger and bigger and soon bottles will be replaced by real food and you will want to be more independent, like your sister.

I will embrace these wakeups because they are so short-lived. The days go by fast and furious, and I will miss this one day too soon.

This time, just you and me.

After you are done with your bottle, I give you some Tylenol for your maybe-teeth and you talk to me while I pump—making your yummy breakfast.

Then around 3:30 am we head back to bed. You and me, us—together.

I tuck you in and you smile at me one last time before we close our eyes for the final stretch of the night. Gosh, I will miss that gummy smile and this time, just you and me.

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