I know we mothers always complain about how we haven’t had a good night’s sleep since our children were born (and, if we’re being technical, probably well before that). Even when we go away for business or pleasure, we can’t turn that “mommy” thing off – at least I can’t. I wake up in the dead of night, straining to hear the cries of my child, who might need me, somewhere… somewhere!
While I can (and do) complain about the dark circles and endless fatigue with the best of them, I think it’s time – at the risk of losing my martyr card – that I ‘fess up to something.
Sometimes, sometimes I don’t mind it.
Last night, my first night to go to sleep unaided by OTC drugs of some kind since last Thursday, I heard her cries at about 4 a.m. From the guest room next door (still have a seal cough), I crept into her room. Her outstretched arms and soft sniffles were just the kind of comfort I needed in the middle of a sleepless night.
She nuzzled her little face into my neck, eyes still heavy with sleep, and I breathed in her little toddler smell – part lavender, part clean, part her. I wrapped her in her favorite blanket, and suggested we go to the guest room.
First, of course, we both took a trip to the bathroom, where she successfully used the potty and was rewarded with a horsey sticker and a fox sticker, one for each hand.
Then we retreated to what seemed like our own secret, private place, tucked under the covers of the guest room bed. She repeatedly told me how much she loved me, gave me hugs and kisses and said “thank you” after every kiss I gave her. She snuggled her body against mine, and every few minutes would look up at me and smile, touching my face or my hand.
It was amazing. It was perfect. And the fact that it was four in the morning? Actually made it even better.