Every morning, I participate in something a bit selfish and a bit indulgent. When Tristan wakes at 7am, I pick him up out of his crib and gently nestle him in our bed, his head between the gap our two pillows create. After I lie back down, I breathe him in, kiss him softly on his cheek, and inhale his baby's breath as he slowly falls back to sleep snuggled in between his mommy and daddy. Sure sure sure, American culture is all about "independence" and goes so far to say you shouldn't allow your baby in your bed. The people who say that haven't been parents. I tell you, it's a little piece of heaven when he quietly falls back asleep next to me. And then I can sleep soundly, knowing he's in dreamland.
So this morning I did the same thing at 7am, but for some reason, I was more awake then usual. Maybe because he slept that night from 10pm-4am straight (hallelujah!). So he fell asleep, in between Joe and I, and I had this view of the two of them side by side, breathing in a out. My one and a half men. And I knew that my whole life had led up to this moment, this family. One I had married, one I had made. And I realized I couldn't be happier.
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