that on the night that your baby decides to stay up 3 hours past her bedtime,
(not screaming,
not crying,
not whining,
but just talking and laughing and sitting and playing),
and you finally get her to fall asleep at quarter to 11
on the night before your longest, toughest night of the week,
when you still have laundry to do and things to straighten up before retiring to bed,
you will still take your baby’s messy, sweet potato covered t-shirt and hold it to your nose,
breathing in your baby’s scent,
because in the five minutes that she’s actually, finally, been asleep,
you’ve already begun to miss her.