It's 9:00 a.m.

and she's still asleep.  

She woke up at 3:30 a.m. 

and didn't fall back to sleep until 6:30.  

As I peek in at her it's hard to be upset.  

She's sleeping soundly beneath her polka dot quilt, 

her face hidden beneath my night shirt.  

A discovery born out of desperation when she was an infant.  She would wake in the night and I would give her the shirt I was wearing.  She would grasp it's warmth to her, snuggle her face into it's folds and fall quickly back to sleep. 

Four years later 

and she's still comforted 

by the warmth and smell of her mother.  

How could I be upset over a few hours of lost sleep ~