You’ll never remember these nights.

The nights I go to bed early for you.

The nights I leave my comfy spot on the couch beside your Daddy to snuggle and nuzzle you instead.

You’ll never remember these nights.

But I will.

The nights my 33-year-old body sleeps on the smallest sliver of my king-size bed.

The nights I spend silently fighting you for an adequate amount of blanket and space.

You’ll never remember these nights.

But I will.

The nights I lie in bed, asking God if I’m raising you right.

The nights I question if someone, anyone, could and would do it better.

You’ll never remember these nights.

But I will.

The nights I park myself next to you, listening to you breath.

The nights I lie there, smelling your hair and studying your beautiful face.

You’ll never remember these nights.

But I will.

I will remember them for the rest of my life because I’m your mother.