lately.

I sleep when I can. Henry and I have our little bedtime rituals that go pretty smoothly on days we get to be together. Because of our family situation, there are days we are not together and those nights don't go as smoothly. I have been careful to not automatically diagnose the problem as "Henry's not with me," and have instead kept track of the nights he has struggled and the behaviors he exhibits. This is my life. Always double guessing. Always making sure this is about Henry. Not me. Not his dad. Last night we were up quite a bit, he had a hard time going to sleep and then had a poop attack in the middle of the night and instead of going right back to sleep, he needed to hold on to my face and coo at me in the dark for a while. Then when he finally went back to sleep, I had to get up and clean up poopy clothes. I'm exhausted. Tonight he did the thing where instead of falling asleep on his own, he grabbed my hand with both of his hands and held it tight to his chest. If I tried to pull my hand away, he woke up and tightened his grip and looked at me as if to say, "you're not going anywhere, woman." These nights break my heart because I never want him to feel like he has to physically hold on to me so I don't leave him. They make me question every decision I have made about our family situation. But I still feel I am doing the right thing for him. This afternoon I laid down with him when he took his late afternoon nap. I fell asleep for a few minutes and it was the best sleep I've had in days. I think he slept well, too. I can always tell when he got a good rest because he wakes up just as happy as can be. Smiling ear to ear. Talking to me softly. Squealing at Barbaro Garbey. These times make me know I'm doing something right. I'll sleep someday. For now I'll do everything I can to make sure Henry wakes up happy as often as possible.