Side by side
It's about 2:30 AM. I hear the kssk kssk kssk of L's sheep slippers on the hardwood floor in the hallway, coming towards our bedroom. I fortify myself, ready for the nightly routine. She will, without a word, scramble up the side of the bed and press herself against my side. She isn't quite like N was at this age, verbose with a whispered, "Mama, I'm scared" or a vivid description of a scary dream. L never says a word, she just burrows under the covers beside me, a warm inextricably tangled bundle of L plus "bwankie" plus Arnold Bear.
I know that, as much as I loathe getting out of my warm bed, and however sorely I am tempted sometimes to encircle that bundle with my arms and breathe in the sleepy scent of her hair and let her lay beside me for a while, I must instead scoop her up with a gentle kiss and say, "Let's get back into your own bed." The three of us won't sleep well with a thrashing L in the bed. She will be cranky the next day, and M and I have enough sleep interruptions with C getting 1-year molars-- we need as much rest as possible to make it through our long, busy days. I can't encourage a bad habit. L is usually fine after a few snuggles and kisses, a quick trip to the potty, and sometimes a few "slow tickles" (a back scratch) from Mommy as I return her to her bed. I wait for L to appear before me, ready to provide comfort and return to sleep. But I never see her. I must have dreamed the sound of her little feet in the hallway...
The next thing I know, my phone alarm is vibrating on the night stand... it's Saturday, and I'm getting up early to go for a run. As I slowly rise and find the gray outline of my running clothes where I laid them out, my eye is drawn to what appears to be something on top of M's stomach in the bed.
It startles me at first, and then I realize-- it's all wisps and curls... and I barely make out the curve of L's chubby little cheek.
They are curled together-- L's head on his stomach, her arm slung around his waist, his elbow surrounding her Minnie Mouse nightie, her knees bent at his shoulders, and her little foot caressing his cheek. They sleep soundly together, I see them intertwined in the half-light of dawn, and I mentally take a picture to preserve in my head forever.
She figured it out, this little one who wanted nobody but Mommy for the first eighteen months of her life. Daddy had to work a little harder to win her over as a baby. But now that she's older, they're as close as close can be, and it's pretty special to see him give that extra care to our dear in-the-middle girl. My throat catches and I'm thankful for him and for her... and I think nothing of the fact that she didn't get returned to her bed. Nothing at all.
Those chubby, rosy little cheeks are already thinning down and slowly disappearing. Mama, don't forget to kiss them a lot (mostly during the day, of course :) before they go away.
I'm also SO excited to meet the wonderful, intelligent, unpredictable, passionate person that I know she'll grow to be. This one is going to be super special, I just know it.
It's a weird mixture of wanting to hold on, fearing the time that is slipping away, and looking eagerly toward the future.
I know that, as much as I loathe getting out of my warm bed, and however sorely I am tempted sometimes to encircle that bundle with my arms and breathe in the sleepy scent of her hair and let her lay beside me for a while, I must instead scoop her up with a gentle kiss and say, "Let's get back into your own bed." The three of us won't sleep well with a thrashing L in the bed. She will be cranky the next day, and M and I have enough sleep interruptions with C getting 1-year molars-- we need as much rest as possible to make it through our long, busy days. I can't encourage a bad habit. L is usually fine after a few snuggles and kisses, a quick trip to the potty, and sometimes a few "slow tickles" (a back scratch) from Mommy as I return her to her bed. I wait for L to appear before me, ready to provide comfort and return to sleep. But I never see her. I must have dreamed the sound of her little feet in the hallway...
The next thing I know, my phone alarm is vibrating on the night stand... it's Saturday, and I'm getting up early to go for a run. As I slowly rise and find the gray outline of my running clothes where I laid them out, my eye is drawn to what appears to be something on top of M's stomach in the bed.
It startles me at first, and then I realize-- it's all wisps and curls... and I barely make out the curve of L's chubby little cheek.
They are curled together-- L's head on his stomach, her arm slung around his waist, his elbow surrounding her Minnie Mouse nightie, her knees bent at his shoulders, and her little foot caressing his cheek. They sleep soundly together, I see them intertwined in the half-light of dawn, and I mentally take a picture to preserve in my head forever.
She figured it out, this little one who wanted nobody but Mommy for the first eighteen months of her life. Daddy had to work a little harder to win her over as a baby. But now that she's older, they're as close as close can be, and it's pretty special to see him give that extra care to our dear in-the-middle girl. My throat catches and I'm thankful for him and for her... and I think nothing of the fact that she didn't get returned to her bed. Nothing at all.
Those chubby, rosy little cheeks are already thinning down and slowly disappearing. Mama, don't forget to kiss them a lot (mostly during the day, of course :) before they go away.
I'm also SO excited to meet the wonderful, intelligent, unpredictable, passionate person that I know she'll grow to be. This one is going to be super special, I just know it.
It's a weird mixture of wanting to hold on, fearing the time that is slipping away, and looking eagerly toward the future.
What a sweet post! Just reading it made my throat catch a bit, too.
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