Four in the Morning

 Four in the morning,

Wake up to my wife in tears

Because the baby won't sleep

For what feels like the millionth night in a row.

I jump out of bed, empty my bladder,

And head into his room.

He screams in his crib;

Who could say why?

At nine months old there's countless reasons to cry.

I carry him to the recliner,

Lay his little head on my chest,

And cover us both with a blanket that barely comes down to my knees.

The screaming has stopped,

But the wiggling persists

As he squirms and snots on my chest.

I worry he'll crawl off me and fall.

I worry I'll never get a good night's sleep again.

I worry the worries only Mom and Dad know.

He falls back asleep.

Do I dare try and put him back down?

Nothing ventured, nothing gained:

The recliner couldn't be any louder

As I release the handle and bring it back down.

I sit on the couch and write this poem while I wait to see if he stays asleep.

I never understood a parent's love 

Until I woke up to screams at four in the morning.