A restless night

Last night I paced the floors with a restless, febrile(? - temp measured by mum's hand on brow rather than use of a thermometer) six week old. At this moment I expect I should be cuddled up in bed sleeping, but I have finally meandered back into the vicinity of blogspot. Gestating is over and I have some space to sit and think (and pontificate?)

My wish for the next 3 months is that I can enjoy the pleasures of a little baby - the tiny silky limbs, the gaping, gooing smiles, the quietness of 3am streetlight in the loungeroom window, DJ with a tiny body perched along his arm. The last time for the first times. This gift - yearned for, undeserved, just a fraction out of my league. Some days I think I cannot be enough or do enough and must rely on the touch or hand of someone else.

Keep me thankful, with an eye for the joy and pleasure. I have fear I will not savour it. Different from the piercing dread that his distress last night might have been serious illness, more a nagging sense that I might be distracted by busyness and not lay down strong enough memories of this moment.