I think I cannot describe the beauty of Ramona nursing to sleep.  Won't stop me from trying, though. 

She smiles and does her excited flail when she sees the breast.  We lie on our sides on the bed so we are facing eachother, each in the fetal position, her knees in my belly and her feet on the tops of my thighs -- a perfect, snuggly package.  She has a little pudgy hand on each side of my breast, holding it in place.  Sometimes she wants to rub her eyes excessively, so I hold her top hand.  Sometimes she wants to move her hand around, reaching toward my face or armpit and pulling her hand back toward her shoulder, stroking my breast or my face again and again, more slowly each time as she falls asleep.  Sometimes we play with eachother's fingers until the hand slowly drops.  Her eyes close, and the curve of her closed eyes matches the curve of her cheeks, which bounce a little with each suck.  Her head gets warm and sweaty, giving her a bit of a glow. She is so soft, both the feel of her skin and the lines of her face.  These are the moments when I am most aware of being in love with her. 

Jamie's a bad sleeper to begin with, and the bed is small for all three of us, getting smaller as she grows.  I know it just won't work for our family to have her in the bed with us forever.  But it truly brings tears to my eyes to think of giving up the painfully beautiful moments of nursing her to sleep in our bed, the bed where we made her, the bed where she was born.