A high pitched cry enters my dreamland and I slowly drift into consciousness to recognize my own personal little alarm clock – Shiloh. I look to see Tyson sleeping, not even bothered by the shrill wailing of our daughter. Lucky guy. I sigh and stand, moving only two feet forward before I’m lifting her out of her cradle.
“Wassa matter, baby?” I ask her softly, cuddling her to my chest as I carefully crawl back into bed and rest my back against the headboard. She lets out another impatient cry as I struggle to maneuver my shirt so she can get to my breast. Once she does, it’s almost like she lets out a relieved sigh.
I sit there, looking at her and wondering what I did so right to get to have her in my life. She’s so beautiful right now, her eyes closed and her tiny fist wrapped aro
