I never should've written on this blog that Noah was sleeping through the night. Once I publicly admitted to my good fortune (pretty much the very day that I admitted to it), he started waking up a million times a night. Figures, right?
I wish I could say that I wasn't frustrated by it. He is, after all, very young to be sleeping through the night. But once I got a taste of how wonderful it feels to be rested, it was difficult to go back. Noah is a fussy baby--he has very few periods of content awake time during the day--and it's so much easier to be patient when I'm not exhausted.
It's true what people say: Being a mom is hard. But just when I am getting discouraged and frustrated, Noah and I have these moments together that remind me how very lucky I am to have him.
Last year, in the height of our fertility and adoption drama, I often envisioned and yearned for life with a baby. I pictured my son or daughter being my little buddy, someone I could hang out with all day long. For some reason, the picture that most often came to mind was of us cooking dinner together. The baby would be sitting in his Bumbo chair on the counter, watching me contentedly while I cooked. I would talk to him as I measured, chopped, and stirred, expounding on life as if he understood every word I was saying. We would be best friends.
Yesterday, my dream came true.
It only lasted ten minutes before he started to bawl--but those ten minutes were enough. I love my boy. I am so lucky.