3 A.M.

I can feel it happening, just like they said. 

"He'll grow up in the blink of an eye." 

Bleary-eyed and drunk from exhaustion, I laughed to myself. Time couldn't possibly go any slower, I thought in the early newborn days when everything felt like a confusing, overwhelming blur thanks to hormones that had gone haywire. Those nights he woke up every two hours - three if we were lucky - I couldn't wait for him to get older. When he does, he'll surely sleep through the night, I imagined. When he does, he won't need me as much. 

Cue my heart breaking. Never has there been a more foolish wish.

With time - also as they promised - things began to feel easier. He slept more, and so did we. Multiple middle-of-the-night wake-ups became two became one. Our one. 

Like clockwork, my guy wakes around 3 a.m. most nights. Chris and I have a deal: Before 3:30, it's my turn to get up. After 3:30, his. This ensures we both get enough sleep each night, and it's worked well from the start. Let me stop here and say a little about my husband. He is, simply, incredible. Supportive, loving, attentive and playful with his son, washer of bottles, preparer of meals, assembler of furniture - there is nothing he won't do if it makes my life a little easier, or makes me feel loved. The other night he brought home my favorite cookies. When I went back to work a couple of weeks ago, he gave me a journal with prompts to remember something special from each day, and the most heartfelt card. TJ has a stuffed sloth and we've decided to name him Salvador the Sloth. For some unknown reason, Salvador has a thick Italian accent, voiced by the goofiest dad in the world. TJ giggles and so do I. Our husband and father is the absolute best.

At 3 a.m., however, it's just the two of us. He stirs, and I gently pick him up from out of his bassinet and take him to the rocking chair, cradled in my arms, where he quietly drinks his bottle. He's mostly back asleep by the time he finishes. In the beginning, I moved too quickly to put him back to bed so that I could also. Now, I stretch out 3 a.m. as long as possible - resting my cheek on the soft hair on his head, kissing his little lips, and holding him close to my chest a little longer.

The last several nights, however, there has been no 3 a.m. I still wake up, waiting for him to stir, but he's stayed asleep. Sleeping through the night? It's a miracle! We've all risen around 7 a.m., rested and smiling. 

But I miss our 3 a.m.

He's so tall and his legs are perfect and long. He makes noises in the backseat and I can almost hear what his voice will sound like. He's getting bigger and smarter each day like they also said, and I'm so excited for all that's ahead for him and for us. Still, I'd give anything to go back. To hold his tiny newborn body. To be able to fit him on my knees like I used to. To feel the chaos of the early days again, but not worry about getting enough sleep because this time I would know it's all just temporary, which offers both reassurance and a dagger through my tender heart.

My sweet Thomas, I'll love you forever.

And I will always meet you at 3 a.m. if you're awake.