Inspired by the joy of watching my 11-month old daughter fall asleep in my arms, I decided to write this personal narrative. Embellished with imagery and a number of other literary devices, such as the occasional use of rhythm and rhyme, the narrative reflects the ambivalent feelings that parents might have while putting their babies to sleep.
I would stand by your bed, holding you close to my chest and humming my lullaby the best that I could, but each time I would fear that you might fall asleep soon, for then I would have to lay you down and sneak out the room. At times, you would feel hungry before bed, so mom would breastfeed you in the silent darkness, and I. I would pray at the door that you would not give in to sleep in her arms as I had prepared for you a number of soothing lullabies. Sadly, though, at times, she would say that you had closed those beautiful eyes softly in her lap and had walked into that sweet dream. But when you could resist, I’d gambol to her, hugging you in my arms to sing to you my new daddy lullabies.
You would gaze at me with your round eyes wide open, and I would stare back at the depth of your innocent face. Then would come your little plump hand up my chin groping for my lips, for the source of sound. The joy of your playful hands mixed with the terror from your drowsy eyes was what my heart felt with its every pound.
I had mastered a skill, which later I regretted learning: the art of singing lullabies. Your eyes drowned in sleep, and my eyes, reaching out to yours, would shout quietly, “Sweetie, stay awake for just another round.”
At last, I would have to lay you down on your princess bed and walk out. I had won the battle of sleep, yet I had lost you to it on the very same battleground.
Then I would immerse myself in the memory. How exciting it was watching you sleeping tight! How lovely it was walking with you in the darkness of the room in that rhythmic rocking motion! Then I would console myself, “Sleep my sweetie; our rendezvous will be tomorrow night.”