You were never a "good" sleeper, baby of mine. At least not like your older sister who can fall asleep in a minute flat at bedtime, had two naps a day up to a year-and-a-half and still has an afternoon nap at five years old.

What a surprise then, when you came and I couldn't get you to sleep unless you were swaddled in what could only be described as a baby straitjacket and twenty minutes of full body bouncing (and then only for 45 minute stints during the day and only three hour stints at night).

And then at six months you decided a morning nap was no longer necessary, except you didn't inform me, other then by eliminating your afternoon nap.

I remember clearly one day being exhausted, in tears, pacing in endless circles around your room, bouncing you for close to an hour to get you to sleep. And then you woke up twenty minutes later.

Once I figured out you only needed one nap we fell into a nice routine. You catnapped in the stroller during our morning walk and had a decent afternoon nap.

That's not to say our sleep troubles left us. You needed a bottle in the middle of the night until at least ten months old, still take forever to settle to sleep at bedtime now, chit-chatting away to yourself and wake me more than I'd like at night. But I'm okay with that.

Because it means you're still little, little enough for naps in the afternoon. Someday these naps will be a thing of our past. That quiet time in the afternoon for Daddy and I. The hush of your room when I enter. The sunlight sneaking in past your closed blinds. The soft sound of your breathing. Your tousled hair. The way one foot always escapes the blankets. And, of course, taking after me as Daddy would say, your reluctance to get up.

So this month for our Tell Me a Story blog circle, I decided to document the final minutes of your nap. Granted, the light wasn't great and these images are a bit grainy and dark, but I know in the years to come they will mean the world to me.

Be sure to continue the circle and check out Sharleen's post here.