It's getting easier.
How can it be that I am saying that?
Reliable, predictable naptimes. And he's sleeping in his own bed about half the night.
I guess we were clueless before. How? We tried so hard. Perhaps Cedar changed. As he does each day. He looks forward to nap and a song and I feel light as a feather laying him down to sleep.
We've got the mornings down anyways. It makes me not want to leave the house. It makes me scurry to figure out the best-possible, most-satisfying, rightest thing to do with my hour.
A few nights ago my mom watched Cedar while Tim and I got into the car by ourselves and drove away. We drove through the hills and down to the river for dinner. It was weird. I laughed a lot more than I have been laughing lately. We found enormous sycamores and wrapped our arms around them, marveling at the size of their trunks. We quietly ate and talked during a dinner just like we used to. And my thoughts were all over the place. I wanted to enjoy it but was partially back with Cedar. It felt strange to walk upright and straight without either of us compensating for a baby's weight. I thought even about parents who lose a child and have to return to the simple twosome. Awful. Not that it was awful to be alone with Tim. It just isn't really us any more. Us is three.