Tonight, the youngest is tossing and turning, a good two hours after she should have been asleep. From the room below, I can hear the springs in her mattress and the deep sighs, occasional yawns and the thump of feet hitting the wall where her bed is.The house is dark, except for the lamp by my desk and the glow of the wood stove. I'm tapping away on the computer when I hear a voice through the grate in the ceiling, where my two youngest share a room.
"Mama! Can I have a glass of water?"
"Okay Mama. I will." She takes two teeney, tiny sips and hands the mug back. I don't think she can see the stink eye I give her in the dark. Nightlights cast only so much light.
I tuck her back in. Find a few stray stuffed animals or stuffies as the kids call them, and tuck them in with her. Giving her a kiss, I head back down to my spot by the fire.
A few minutes later, I hear a thump followed by a voice. "Mama? I have to go potty."
Why am I surprised? "Fine. Go potty and go to bed."
Her quick steps on the stairs, silence and then the sound of the toilet flushing tells me she is all business. I hear her head back up, the rustle of blankets, a few inaudible words, then silence. Twenty minutes later, I head to my room, hot cup of tea in hand and something new to read. Quiet at last. I settle under my down blanket, check to make sure the alarm is set and inhale the cinnamon-y scent of my tea. Then out of nowhere, a voice calls from across the hall and through my open bedroom door...
L: "Mama? Mama. Guess what? Pengi (a favorite stuffie this week) told me she likes tea. Can she have tea right now?"
Me: "Ssshhhh, honey. Everyone is sleeping and you need to sleep too."
L: "I can't sleep."
Me: "I hear you, but you need to try."
L: "Mama? Did you know that men in Scotland wear skirts? Except the guy who stands in front of the bagpipes. He wears pants. Because he's in front and doesn't want anyone looking at his legs."
Me: "Go to sleep. Now Lilli. This isn't funny."
There is a short pause. Then...
L: "You are the meanest mom in the world. You didn't even say please."
Crying ensues, for which I climb out of bed, cross the hall and halfheartedly pat her back and give her a quick kiss. I'm not happy about it, but I say again,
"Please go to sleep. Now". L, equally as frustrated: "I CAN'T!"
I take a deep breath while she quietly cries into her pillow, rub her back and stroke her forehead, something that I've done since she was a tiny babe. She quiets down, sighs deeply and her body is finally still. She's asleep.
I head back to bed, eyes heavy and stinging. I lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the cats getting into something and the snoring of my dog. My limbs are heavy.
"Mama? Mama? Maaa-maaa!"
I jump from the verge of blissful sleep. An indiscernible shape is in the doorway, but I know immediately who it is.
"Mama? Can I snuggle with you?"
Without a word, I lift up the comforter, scoot over to one side and she climbs in next to me, turns away onto her side and immediately relaxes. Before long, her quiet breathing signals her sleep.
As I lay beside her, snuggling against her warmth, memories rush back of my first winter in Vermont with a new baby in my arms and two little ones tucked under a comforter beside me. Was that really six years ago? Before long, there will be no more voices in the dark, telling me stories about penguins, tea parties and men in skirts. Before long, there will be no more late night trips of sneaking into Mama's bed for a snuggle. Before long, the children will be children no more and I'll have only my memories.
Now, laying here with my youngest, I stop to savor this singular, fleeting and sweetest of moments. Tonight, I'm going to sleep really well.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment