I feel so exhausted, but I can’t sleep.

Instead, I find myself compelled into his room, into the serene comfort of the newly-painted baby blue walls.

He is sleeping in his crib, his face placid and peaceful, half-smiling. One little fist is curled around the corner of his favorite blanket – the blue and yellow one I knit for him over the growing swell of my pregnant stomach.

He is so innocent.

I stare into his sleeping face and I am able to see pieces of myself. I feel infinite – this child, my child, has an entire life ahead of him, an eternity of decisions to make and lessons to learn. But in this one moment, he is safe. He is protected from the world as he sleeps here in his crib, too young to know that things like hate and loss and disappointment even exist.

Still small enough to be able to love unconditionally.

I stare into his soft face, wondering what he is dreaming, if he is dreaming of me. Because this child, my sleeping child, is my dream come true.

And he is so beautiful.