January Night

Time, now, is not measured by the hour of day or night, but by the number of hours since and until his last sleep, his last feed, his last diaper change. I sit with him at my breast, staring in a daze at the window to a dark outside, the dim light of the lamp reflecting off the glass. It’s probably 3am. Or is it 5?

As soon as he’s finished feasting, I place his small, sleeping body into the bassinet next to our bed. I crawl slowly and quietly under the covers towards the warm skin of my half-sleeping husband, and I sink in to sleep. There is a sense of relief. Of freedom. Our clock has reset. The countdown to his next cycle of wake, change, feed begins again, and it is at this point when there is the most time between now and then.