His thoughts:

Something disturbs my sleep. My mind is groggy as I realize that she is getting out of bed. Realization dawns slowly to my sleep deprived brain, the baby is awake.

Our baby.

My son.

I've had nine months to get used to the idea, but in a way, it still hasn't completely sunk in.

I'm a father.

I watch her as she lifts him out of his cradle and walks over to the rocking chair, the moonlight reflecting off the waves of her long dark hair, giving her an almost ethereal look. She settles down with him, preparing to nurse him. I move to a more comfortable position, and she looks up at me with an apologetic smile when she realizes that her movements have woken me.

I can't help but laugh as my greedy little man latches on and sucks hungrily, his tiny hand resting against the curve of her breast. I recall the first time I laid eyes on him - I was awestruck, totally amazed at the perfection of his tiny form.

It was truly love at first sight. I memorized every inch of him, every finger and toe, and every hair on his head.

He complains when she moves him to switch to her other breast, but quickly latches on and has at it, as if his meal hadn't been so rudely interrupted. I chuckle to myself thinking, definitely his father's son. Realizing that for now, her breasts are more his territory than mine, I feel a small twinge of jealousy, and immediately feel guilty. The smirk on her face tells me that she knows exactly what I was thinking. I give her a sheepish smile by way of apology, but the look she gives me tells me that sharing might not be as hard as I thought.

Watching them, I find myself wishing I had my sketchpad handy. They are so beautiful together, mother and child, perfect in every way.

Her thoughts:

Looking at him watching us fills me with such warmth. His hair mussed from sleep, his broad chest, which I love to snuggle against. I can almost see his fingers twitching as he watches us, aching to capture this scene. I know he is memorizing every detail to be sketched when he is more awake.

I glance down at our son as the pace of his sucking slows, hoping that he will go back to sleep without needing a change, but sigh, that is not to be.

Virgil is there before I can even move, taking Jason to the changing table.

"Go back to bed," he whispers, "I'll take it from here."

I am so grateful. I feel as though any energy I might have had, has been sucked out of me. I crawl back into bed with a sigh, and hope that Virgil can work his usual magic with the boy. Most new fathers are nervous with their babies, but not my husband. He took to fatherhood like a duck takes to water.

After a short while, he slips into bed beside me and gathers me into his strong arms. As we drift off to sleep I think to myself that life couldn't be any more perfect than this.