SOME MORNINGS

SOME MORNINGS YOU REACH FOR US

August 12, 2025

Some mornings you wake at seven.  
Drink a bottle.  
Then fall back asleep beside us.  
Deep sleep.  
The kind that trusts the room it’s in.

I used to wonder if it was a mistake.  
If we were creating bad habits,  
If you’d never want your own space.  
But now you sleep through the night.  
And still, some mornings,  
You reach for us.  

You weren’t trained.  
You were heard.  
You were held.  
You were given time.

And we didn’t do that by the book.  
We did it by watching you.  
By taking shifts.  
By noticing what worked.  
By trusting that your cues  
meant something.

Your mother would soothe you in minutes  
because her body already knew the rhythm.  

This wasn’t just my doing.  
This is what we built.  
Together.

And still, the hardest part for me?  
Learning that your cries  
weren’t manipulation.  
They were communication.  
And the answer  
was not to correct them,  
but to stay close enough  
for you to feel calm again.

The is the kind of work that changes people.  
And somehow,  
while doing that work,  
you learned how to sleep.

Not because we made you.  
Because we listened.