Sometimes the world is less complicated at two in the morning. Floating in a sea of darkness and an ocean of quiet there is less of a tempest in my brain.

One single task takes on a zen like quality. Feeding the baby: it becomes a ritual, a prayer of sorts, a tangible expression of love. It is the distillation of everything that really matters in life: quiet breath, attention to detail, simple pleasure, touch, warmth, caring for one another in spite of the obstacles of hour, exhaustion or comfort.

You may not know this about me, but I’m awake in the darkness a lot. Nearly every night. It’s not because anything is wrong, or I’m upset, or worried, or stressed in some way… although there have been times when that’s been the case. More often, I’ve come to realize, I’m awake because everything is just right. I’ve slept a little and something in me craves the quiet space and so I wake up to think.

I think about a million things:

• Where we’re going next
• How school is going with the kids
• Whether or not I’ve remembered to start the bread dough
• If my Grandma is happy in her new place
• What my nephew Kai’s newest trick is
• How I got “here” in some capacity

There’s no rhyme or reason to my thoughts.

This morning, I’m contemplating Love, with a capital L:

• What is it?
• Why does it matter so much to us?
• Does it really “make the world go round?”
• What are it’s many forms?
• Can any of us truly experience it in our human forms?
• Why does it always seem so perfect?
• Why does it sometimes hurt so much?
• Is the love that overwhelms me for this tiny pink bundle my own doing, or does it come from somewhere outside myself?
• If “God is Love,” what does that make me?
• Who are the people that I really love most and why?
• Who are the people that really love me most and why?
• Can love be a choice, devoid of emotion?
• Should it be?

These thoughts aren’t a whirlpool or a storm in my head, they’re more like clouds drifting against a sunset, or waves kissing a long warm beach. They drift. They ebb and flow, there is nothing harsh or jarring. There aren’t even usually definitive answers.

They are simply things I ponder in the darkness of this cold New England night while I feed a new soul.

I adjust her head, the size of an orange, on my lap and wiggle the nipple of the bottle in her mouth gently, reminding her to suckle.

I hold the bottle up to the light of the computer screen that is scrolling through pictures to see if she’s had a whole ounce yet; she has.

I prop her on my lap, still asleep, and burp her gently, patting her back to the rhythm of the song playing softly in the background and then tickle under her chin in an attempt to get her to open her mouth and take another ounce.

We are both tired, and two ounces seems a big goal.

But, I’m not as tired as her Mama, so I happily keep at it, remembering what it was like to be at the point of complete physical exhaustion with my own new babies, desperate for someone to take a turn.

She’s snoozing again now, on the mattress next to me, tucked under the edge of my big blue sleeping bag.

I know what “they” say about co-sleeping, so does her mother, but it still seems to us to be the way God intended babies to grow, held tight to someone’s chest, matching heartbeats, inhaling the scent of those that love her most, close enough that every snuffle is heard, every wiggle responded to and every breath shared.

Perhaps this is the essence of love, to coexist so closely with someone that even when they’re asleep your souls touch, no matter how many miles and climate zones separate you; to be so in tune with their needs that you meet them without even thinking.

Perhaps love is simply the act of taking someone else into yourself to the extent that they flow in your veins as surely as your own blood does and their scent wakes you in the darkness, even when they are not there.

Or maybe the love itself is a gift that we are given that we simply pass on in a way that makes it impossible for us to lay claim to it and “I love you,” is an illusion… perhaps it would be more accurate to say, “I share love with you because it flows through me and this part of it is my gift to you.”

I don’t know.

Perhaps I have a baby hang- over and this will only make sense to me.

3:11 a.m. Thinking about Love. Good morning world.