Last night, or rather this morning, somewhere near 1:00am, I was awakened by my nursling needing his mama. A normal nightly occurance, except this time with more urgency, as the congestion from his cold had settled in somewhere between his nose and his chest, making breathing and nursing difficult.
As I was pulled out of my peaceful slumber, I felt a pang of pity for myself, knowing this was likely the beginning of a long night.
Then I thought of Colleen. A woman I do not know, but for whom my heart breaks.
I discovered her blog ages ago, when we were both moms to a mere four boys, or so, a piece. Then it was five, and then, for her, six. A "band of brothers", so like the one dear to me.
I scooped up my baby and brought him out to the living room. I wiped his nose, cuddled him, and marveled at the wonder of a baby, so dependent on his mama. Caring for him, at all hours, is a small sacrifice for the reward of being his earthly mother.
As I nursed him, I thought of her again. How she must be producing milk, for a baby she can no longer put to her breast; her body needing to catch up with the stark reality of her loss.
And those brothers... Oh how I ache when I think of those brothers.
But are they not better off for having had him, even for such a short time, and at such a cost of grief?
I cradled my own for hours, without a care for the clock, even as 4:00am approached, intermittantly praying for her, and thanking for me.
A sleepless night, but a blessing, another night together.