Restless

I paced the perimeter of the nursery balanced on the balls of my feet, Ronan’s head heavy against my chest. His wispy blond hair, nearly translucent in the light of the full moon, smelled of the lavender baby shampoo I’d bought the week before and had only recently remembered to try. The lavender mixed well with his inherent baby smell; that intoxicating combination of fresh milk and warm skin that followed him everywhere he went.

Midway through what seemed like my hundredth trip across the spacious nursery, I paused tentatively, going so far as to hold my breath in order to remain completely still.

Yes, I thought with glee. He’s finally asleep. As soon as I said it, I wished I could take my words back, and sure enough, Ronan began to stir fitfully in my arms.

“Oh shhhh now,” I murmured against his head. “Time to go to bed now Ro…Way past time to go to bed actually.”

Unfortunately, after an hour and a half of rocking and pacing, the only one falling asleep seemed to be me. What had started the month before as restless nights had quickly escalated into full-blown colic of mammoth proportions, and I couldn’t remember the last night I’d gotten to sleep before midnight, or slept for longer than three hours straight.

Moving Ronan to my left shoulder, I headed back down the now familiar pathway of his room; take a left at the crib, go straight past the changing table until you get to the toy box, then turn around. Lather, rinse, repeat into eternity, or at least until your sanity gives way.

Though the room had gone dark with the setting sun, I had forgone turning on the light, foolishly hoping that the lack of luminosity would inspire Ronan to drift off sooner rather than later. A yawn washed over me, my body conspiring to knock me out right where I stood. I snuck a quick peek downward, hoping against all logic that he’d fallen asleep while I’d been mid-yawn. Alas, no luck. While my eyelids seemed to be weighted down with 20 pound anvils, his were unfortunately still wide open, those Christmas-green eyes always scanning, always searching out the familiar in the shadowy shapes that surrounded us.

Out of sheer desperation, I began to hum Greensleeves, a favorite of his father’s. In the past it had served well to calm him down, but that had been pre-colic. Very little calmed Ronan these days, I thought with a grimace. I’d gone all out that night; warm milk, soothing music, and a relaxing evening bath to boot. And still, here we were, way past both of our bedtimes.

Although my vocal chords were as tired as the rest of my body (we had already sang every nursery rhyme I knew at least three times), soon enough Ronan’s weight settled against me until he was almost completely still. He was asleep, but it was anyone’s guess how long he would stay that way. With my luck, I’d be humming until daybreak.

Still balancing him on my left side, I turned when I heard the soft creak of the nursery door. In walked Ethan, the king of bad timing.

“Shhh,” I hissed. “If you wake him up, you’re singing him back to sleep.”

My bad mood didn’t seem to faze him at all. Despite my warning, Ethan came up behind me and wrapped his arms around the both of us. Being sandwiched between my two favorite men did wonders for my temper, and damned if he didn’t know it.

“Let me take him. You go lay down and get some sleep.”

“Oh sure,” I scoffed, careful to keep my voice no louder than a whisper. “You come in after I’ve done all the hard work.”

Even as I protested, Ethan circled around and positioned himself to take Ronan.

“Off to bed with you, mom. It’s time for us men to have our manly time.”

I suddenly found myself too tired to argue; as I passed Ronan to his father, he squirmed and opened his eyes for a moment. When he’d settled against Ethan’s chest, however, all was quiet again.

Figures.