Baby Boy

My husband is sleeping.
Do you mind that I tell you these things? (Does he mind?)
Well, anyway...

He is an angel...and there are these moments in life, like this moment - meaningful only to me simply because I am the only one here to appreciate his darling sleeping-baby-boy gorgeousness - that are impossible to share with anyone else, but demand that the attempt be made anyway for their absolute beauty.
I would sometimes watch Nathaniel and Sophia sleeping when I was still living in the States working as a nanny - and was overcome often by this same feeling of being privy to some kind of living-poetry. A secret, the pure deep-breathing repose of those candy-sweet children who I had somehow managed the unbelievable bonus of being paid to spend time with.
There is something about those moments - the quiet darkness of the room, and a person you never knew you could feel so much unchecked love for, sleeping, human before you.
The word 'love' takes on a whole new meaning during those instances.
I adore my husband awake too, of course. But sudden insomnia - something that used to mean tossing and turning, or worse: light-back-on-and-now-what? - gives me a consolation prize, a memory, yet another of those poems I write in my head and keep forever.

Its love. Sure. But its an entirely different hue.