Goodnight sweetheart

Tonight I write from the cooler comforts of bed. Although I can hear the rhythmic brush of breezes outside, our windows are closed to keep hungry mosquitos at bay.

I look to my right and see a very tired Kristian trying to tempt sleep and between us, a very restless Hugo, whose arms and legs compete to determine the faster. His breath is short, his beloved dummy neglected by his side, he stares at the laptop screen on my legs and all Kristian can say is, "now you've done it; your typing is getting him all excited."

But wait. His chubby legs now rest elevated on mine and I can feel his soft, warm breath on the tops of my arm. As I watch his eyes slowly close I fear by the time we move next week (therefore having room for his cot), he will abandon its comfort, preferring that of our bigger version.

But don't we all aspire to that next step? Hugo's definitely reached it, his beautiful, lonely bassinette to my left, partially hidden by a spare blanket.

Don't get me wrong though, the situation isn't all bad. I adore waking to see him right there touching my face and Kristian, of course, loves it too:

"He's so small, he smells so good and I won't get to do this for long," he says, brushing his cheeks back and forth on the top of Hugo's hair.

But as the one who settles him each night, I see the shaking heads and hear warning words of other mothers reading this.

So I figure this will be good for the next week.

And of course we'll then be enveloped in a sleeptime crisis, or maybe I'll be lucky and he won't quite mind it at all....

Fingers, toes, arms and legs (vainly) crossed...