Baby bonnet, baby sonnet

I don't much feel like writing about sleep, or the lack of it, or how to solve baby sleep problems, or whether baby sleep problems are actually problems, or what to do and whether to cry and blah blah blah. Cuz it's all pretty much been said, and it's all evershifting and new and mysterious and baffling and, ultimately, fleeting. But I digress. I'm teaching sonnets and villanelles and sestinas to my high school students next month and I figured I should try to practice what I plan to preach.

Baby Sonnet #1

I tried to write a sonnet in my head while you were crying
Arranging words and counting lines and minutes on the clock
Be patient and be kind and oh be present I am trying
The streetlight glow the dark backyard and I recheck the lock

At times like this, the night’s midpoint, I know there are no theories
(Though studies done in Sweden show there’s no such thing as teething)
You whimper sigh and shift around, at times release the furies
Or I wake scared to silent home and have to check your breathing

My love he wants to interact, to process and engage
And I’m like no, this robot-mom must focus and preserve
My sleep my rest my sanity as night it turns the page
But thank you dear, your arm so warm, such comfort in your curve

And then we bring you into bed, curled sweet around each other
Your mouth insists in dreams I drift my god I am a mother