I hear him.
I don’t want to. I wonder briefly if he might find his paci and if it might be enough.
But I know it won’t.
He cries out in the darkness. I roll over and squint my eyes as tight as possible and still can only just make out that it is somewhere in the 2am hour.
I hear myself mutter about LASIK and someday.
I have lots of words that share space in my brain with someday.
I hear him.
“Mama”, he cries. And I throw myself over the bed, blinded by dark and myopic vision.
I trip over the laundry basket of clean clothes that has sat there for a week.
I curse and wonder why I don’t remember that it is there, but the thought of putting them away does not enter my head.
I hear him.
“I’m coming!”, I think loudly and wonder for the millionth time when this will stop.
I tell myself that it must stop. That I need sleep. My will turns to steel as I approach his door.
“This is THE last night I am doing this!”
As I open his door, I whisper promises of fidelity to my sleep deprived body and mind. “Tomorrow. It will be different tomorrow.”
“Mama”
I pick him up. His head rests on my shoulder. I feel his soft hands gently pat my arm. His breathing calms.
I feel that steel start to soften as I carefully maneuver around the laundry basket.
I lay him down next to me and feel the warmth of his small body already start to permeate my own.
I lift my shirt. He quickly latches on. His hand drowsily begins to rub the length of my stomach. He finds comfort in it. The texture of the skin stretched and marred by the people I made woo him towards sleep.
I look down, his face bathed with moonlight.
I see the curve of his soft cheek that isn’t as round as it once was. I reach out and let my fingers sweep across his forehead pushing back his hair.
I realize it has lost the soft silkiness of infancy. It feels more like the coarseness of boyhood.
He opens his eyes and we see each other. And I know then what I knew when I made those pledges of fidelity to myself.
Tomorrow night will be no different. He needs me still and it won’t be much longer.
I hear him.
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I am linking up with Heather over at The Extraordinary Ordinary who is more extraordinary than ordinary, in my opinion. You should think so too.
She is challenging us to write from a “free heart-gut” place and see what happens. I kinda like what happened in mine, so thanks, Heather.
Absoultely beautiful! You’re not alone in this mama, I deal with this same thing every night although my little one is only 3 months old. You have fewer nights of interrupted nights of sleep in your future than I do in mine, so there’s that to be thankful for!
Megan,
Thanks for that kind of practical encouragement. I have to remind myself there will be an end to it and I will miss it. Those tender moments in the middle of the night won’t last forever. At least, I am pretty sure they won’t.
Tasha
You captured this so beautifully. It really took me back. Thought I might start lactating just reading it.
Anna,
Thank you. Truly.
You have not been a constant in my thoughts and prayers. <3
Tasha
OH! It’s been a while since this was my life. But for so long THIS WAS MY LIFE! You brought me right back there. With every single detail. I love it. So glad I found you (you found me!) through Just Write. Yay to writing and letting the steel soften.
Thanks, Jen. That is one of the thing that is so great about motherhood, all those universal moments we experience. I’m glad I found you, too.
Beautiful. You KNOW I can relate.
Ian was the original textured stomach lover.
Does he still try and cop a feel every now and then?
Funny, I wrote about the mid-night waking of my own little guy for Just Write this week! That push-pull of needing sleep and knowing they need us is SO hard. Someday more rest will come.
Headed over to read your story. I need some support…and coffee.
This is so beautiful! He obviously knows you quite well and is confident in his ability to charm you into submission.
Um, yes. That is the problem. The kid is cute and knows it. He is literally sitting on my lap as I type this and kicking his 3yo sister away because he wants me all to himself. He is a tyrant in a baby’s body.
My youngest is over 2 years old and she still wakes up at least once a night. I no longer nurse her and haven’t for over a year but these late night wake ups really wear on me. I hope at some point your son will sleep through the night for you.
Thanks. I keep telling myself it is a season. There are parts I do enjoy. Moments I appreciate it. But, I know I would be a much nicer person to the rest of my kids if I was sleeping through the night.
When your daughter wakes up, what do you do?
I feel like belting out that line from Grease, which movie I despise and only remember the line because of who I’m married to, “I got chills…they’re multiplyin’…” I have to end the quote there, the rest doesn’t really seem to fit.
Let me end like a spammer, “Good post!”
I am impressed that you have retained this much of any one song from Grease. Proof of your love for me, fo’ sho’.
Oh what a beautiful post! Reminds me of when my girls were small… I would get up with them so much at night and I remember thinking once I really should stop since I was working full-time but I missed them so much during the day that I didn’t mind snuggling at night for long periods of time in the middle of the night. I lost some sleep, and the girls are probably not the best sleepers now at 3 and 5 but I don’t regret indulging them a little. That time is so important.
I agree, Bethany! This time is important. He is probably our last…although saying that out loud or in written form is a surefire way for me to get pregnant, but I do want to try and cherish these little moments as much as I can.
Thank you for this post. Most responses are either relating or remembering. For me, it gave me a glimpse of what that would be like. It sure seems to my womb and heart like the most beautiful moment ever.