the baby cried from his bed,
so i scooped him up and carried him to the couch,
where i snuggled him back to sleep.
his head rested in the crook of my arm
and a blanket was tucked around his chin.
i felt his weight, his breathing, his stillness in sleep.
i kissed his forehead and put my cheek against his hair,
the hair that had grown and swirled around in front
to match his brothers.
i rubbed his head, part for me and part for him,
feeling the softness of his still baby hair and still baby skin,
as much with my heart as with my hand.
i watched him fall deeper to sleep,
remembering his dark hair the first time i held him,
now lighter, just like the others.
i took in his dark eyelashes,
how they brushed against his cheeks,
and how his little lips parted in his slumber.
he was warm against my chest and belly,
the place where he grew just a year ago
now a soft place for him to rest.
he was settled into sleep then,
but i still held him, part for me and part for him,
feeling his weight, his breathing, his stillness in sleep.
