Wednesday Morning, 3am Sweat beaded his brow, making it itch and he resisted the urge to scratch.  His every essence focused on reaching the door.  He took another cautious step, praying that the floor wouldn’t creak.  He was almost there.  If he couldn't make it safely to the door…he was doomed. He was closer now.  Just three more feet.  He took another slow step, gently easing his weight on that foot.  So far, so good.  He glanced over his shoulder.  He was still safe.  Another step.  He couldn't believe it was happening, this nerve-wracking attempt at escape. He took another step and winced when the floor made a creaking noise.  Again he glanced back, but the slight noise hadn't been heard.  Breathing a sigh of relief, he wiped the perspiration from his brow with his sleeve. Exhaustion draped itself around him like a blanket.  His eyes felt gritty.  He hadn't been able to sleep a full night in so long, he'd forgotten when it was.  He needed sleep.  He needed escape.  He wished he was with Nash.  Once more, he peered over his shoulder.  Almost free. He took one more step, but the malevolent darkness of the room betrayed him.  He felt the soft rubber beneath his foot and a split second later, made the connection.  But it was too late to stop the inevitable.  His weight came down on the little toy…and it squeaked. Panicked, he whipped around and held his breath, waiting.  The seconds ticked by.  One.  Two.  Three.  Just as he let out a soft sigh of relief, it happened.  A wail penetrated the night, and reverberated in his ears.  "Oh, man." He crossed the short distance to the crib and lifted his crying child from the blankets.  "It's okay.  Daddy's sorry he woke you up.  Believe me, Daddy's sorry."  Bouncing the baby in his arms, he walked over to flip on the light and headed back to the kitchen. He put the half empty bottle back in the saucepan and turned the burner back on to heat the formula.  Wednesday morning, 3am, and here he was with another feeding…same as the night before, and the night before that.  Bouncing and swaying, he crooned to his child in an effort to lure sleep.  Sleep wouldn't be fooled. Turning off the burner, he picked up the bottle and dribbled a little of the milk onto his wrist to check the temperature.  Satisfied that it wasn't too hot, he gave the baby the bottle and instantly felt the wonderful silence.  Still bouncing gently as he walked, he carried the baby back to the nursery and settled himself in the wooden rocker in the corner.  Shifting his precious burden so that they were both comfortable, he smiled as the moonlight highlighted the small, perfect face.  He began to sing softly to the child he cradled in his arms. "You're sugar, you're spice.  You're everything nice.  You're Daddy's little girl."  Closing his eyes, Joe rested his cheek against Lucia's downy hair and smiled tiredly.  No doubt one day, he'd miss these moments.  Even 3am feedings had their positive side.  One day, his beautiful daughter would grow too big to be rocked to sleep, and would no longer lay there peacefully while her Daddy sang to her.  Joe stifled a huge yawn as he rocked them both to sleep.  Yep.  Wednesday morning, 3am…and all was right with his world. END ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "Daddy's Little Girl" by The Ink Spots.