To the mama up with her baby

 To the mama up with her baby

on Valentine’s night…

I see you.

The candle burned low.
The chocolate still sitting there.
Plans whispered earlier now replaced with white noise and pacing the hallway.

You wanted to feel like a wife tonight.
Instead you’re being everything.

And it’s okay if part of you feels disappointed.

But here’s the part that hits you in the quiet…

Next Valentine’s Day, this baby will already be older.
He’ll need you a little less.
She won’t curl into your chest the same way.
The weight in your arms will be different.

You don’t notice it while you’re in it.
You just feel tired.

But these nights?
They are numbered.

One day you’ll crawl into bed and the monitor will be silent.
No rocking.
No tiny hand gripping your shirt.

And you’ll remember the year
Valentine’s smelled like baby shampoo
instead of perfume.

You are not missing romance.
You are living love in its most demanding form.

And the man who’s waiting for you in that bed?
He knows.

He sees you mothering his child.
He sees the sacrifice.
He sees the devotion.

There will be quieter Valentine’s Days.
Slower ones.
Longer nights.

But this one?
This one is fleeting.

Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.