It is taking longer and longer for you to fall asleep in the evenings. Your eyes are tight shut but I know you’re still awake.
The lights are off but there’s someone home. Not quite ready to go out for the night. Not quite ready to let go of the day.
While we lie on the bed and I feed you, your hands reach up and pat my cheeks, pinch my chin, pull my lips, not looking, taking an inventory of my face with your fingertips, making sure everything is in its place.
And as the time stretches out and still you don’t sleep, I try to stay awake, sifting through the day, taking my own inventory, which moments to throw away and which to keep.