I feel his breath begin a steady cadence on my chest: in, out, in, out. Do I dare? I slowly lift my body out of the rocking chair, one muscle at a time.

Tiptoeing to the edge of the crib, his body senses this familiar dance. In the darkened room, I see his eyes open wide, the edges of his mouth curl into a painful frown as he prepares himself to wail at my departure.

I quickly lay him down and he writhes in protest. I place my hand in between the rails of his crib and slowly pat and shush him until he settles down. He stops crying but I no longer feel the nerves in my wrist and my neck is contorted in such a way that I’m sure tomorrow I’ll regret.

But right now, I would sacrifice an arm for him to finally sleep. I stop patting, and wait, counting seconds that feel like eternity in my mind. My hand is halfway through its escape through the rails when his head shoots up to see if I’m still here.

More crying.

In desperation, I do the unthinkable and climb over the rails to pull his little body close into mine. His body stills and relaxes. I am so tired that eventually I drift off asleep next to him, scrunched up like a sardine.

I breathe him in and he smells like salty tears and sweat. He smells like the first day we met …