the hand that knocks the cradle

You are only 9 weeks old and already we are trying to get you out of our bed. We put the wooden cradle right beside us but you are still too far away for me. In the beginning I wanted nothing more than to get this little creature out. He pecked and punched me. He stretched out and pushed me off to the edge of the mattress. He is so sensitive to movement and sound that I had to move with such care that my muscles would tense up. I still don’t understand the term “sleep like a baby”. It’s for your own good, I have to tell myself. The other night Joerg rolled over and landed on his little fisted hand and Lukas winced and whimpered until I woke up and pushed Joerg off. So you see, it’s for his safety. It’s time. Isn’t it? You’re not too little to be alone…are you? If only you could speak. I am used to you in bed now. I am used to your warm little body…the skin contact….how your small hand reaches out to touch my collar bone…making sure that I am still there before you fall into a deep sleep. I love that so much. I hadn’t realized how much I loved it until last night, when I lay with you just a few feet away, but in your own bed and I heard your tiny hand knocking the side of the cradle, checking to see if I was there….and I wasn’t….and I cried. How can it all go so fast? Someday you will no longer check. Some day you will know that I am not there and you will learn to sleep without me.