The routine seems to be putting her to bed okay, eventually stumbling up ourselves, being woken by a little coughing fit around 2am, waiting for her to either go back to sleep or give out frightened little yelps and then remembering it's your turn and stumbling into her room, or turning over and going back to sleep, secretly relieved.
If it's my turn, the little monkey might want to play, she might wriggle while she's firmly cuddled and has her fine, candy floss hair stroked, but she does eventually go to sleep.
Then I drift off, usually awoken by a little bundle has quietly rolled over and put a hand on my arm.
She's okay and sleeping fine, but she just needs to know Daddy's still there.
My little girl can't speak yet (beyond pointing and saying 'Dat'), but her little questing hand talks to me in a way that her words, when they finally come, will never do.
Sometimes the feelings evoked by being a parent are just too intense to articulate, they really are.