It's 2am. She's fussing. I'm exhausted. She's going to wake Husband. But he's doing everything he can to support us and he's equally drained. Maybe, if I'm fast enough, I can get her before she freaks out and wakes him. I quickly grab the sterile premeasured boiled water in the vacuum sealed jar and dump it into the cleaned awaiting bottle, followed promptly by the accompanying premeasured powdered formula. I give it a quick shake and put it down next to me. The cat is in my nursing chair; I don't want to disturb her. I pick up babe. Her thrashing arms compliment her fussy tone. I hold her close and, for a moment, she quiets down. I feel her soft warmth against my chest, her small arms dangling now. I know she's hungry. I let go of my embrace. I nurse her on one side, then the other. I can't produce enough, but I give her everything I have. Then I take the bottle, give it one more shake and give it to her. She's still quite hungry. She takes most of it, pulling on the bottle, gulping as she goes. She finished. I readjust her in my arms and begin burping her, holding her gently, patting her back softly. Her breathing changes. I can hear her small rhythmic breaths - she is asleep. The whole process takes 45 minutes. I'm so exhausted. I can barely sit on the edge of the bed.

But she is so perfect. And this moment will never come again. By tomorrow she will be a little bit older, and ever so perceptibly larger. Other moments will be equally wonderful and perfect, but none will ever be quite like this ever again. So I ditch the sleep training that all the mom's are talking about now and I hold her a little longer. Feel her small perfect body, tiny yet heavy in my arms. Absorb the sound of her breath and be completely present in this exact moment, because it will never come again.

When she's 18, she'll move out and go to university. I can catch up on sleep then.

But for now, I'm just going to hold her.