The Joy of Carrying My Sleepy Little Ones

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As I glance over to my right, I find her eyes gently closed. Leaning in, I confirm that her typically animated face and chatty demeanor have succumbed to the peaceful embrace of slumber. Sleep must have crept in at some point during the movie, quietly urging her to surrender her eyelids and dive into the delightful tales her imagination conjures.

A warm smile spreads across my face as my heart tightens with the anticipation of the task ahead. I quietly ease myself off the couch, shifting the coffee table aside, and mentally map out my plan. This time, she has brought along her favorite blanket and her beloved stuffed bunny, so I position Bunny carefully before her, wrap her in the blanket, and scoop them both into my arms.

My bare feet cautiously search for any toys or objects her brother may have left in my path as I navigate the dimly lit basement. Holding her close, I tackle the 17 steps leading up to the main floor, with 50 pounds of little girl, her cherished toy, and a fluffy blanket in my embrace. The weight doesn’t bother me; I only worry about her head or legs bumping against the doorframe.

I realize that I won’t always have these moments. I won’t always be the one she snuggles up to while drifting off, nor the person she seeks out to share her thoughts, joys, or tears. These precious moments of motherhood will eventually fade as she grows older.

As I step from the soft carpet of the stairs onto the cool hardwood floor of the hallway, I instinctively lean down to shield her face from the harsh overhead light. Sounds of my husband typing away, with sports highlights playing in the background, drift from his office. I whisper “shhh” to keep her from waking, and I turn the corner to tackle the next flight of stairs. My son is seated behind my husband, engrossed in the screen, perhaps intentionally ignoring me to avoid being told it’s bedtime.

It’s hard to tell. He’s my eldest, clever and transitioning into the world of grown-ups, yet still carrying that adorable smile he had before his first tooth. It’s a smile that can uplift me and break me at the same time. Right now, though, he’s focused on the glowing screen, the light flickering across his face as highlights play out before him. I pull my gaze back to my bundle of joy. The sounds and lights stir her slightly, throwing me off balance, but I bounce her gently against my chest, willing her to stay asleep. Thankfully, she does. I click off the upstairs light with my elbow and we move onward.

Fifteen more steps up with this precious load feel effortless. I know I can manage this without a doubt. I’ve tackled far more challenging situations since becoming a mom, and I’m fully aware that the real challenges are yet to come. I hold on tightly, determined not to drop her.

We finally reach her room, which, despite her earlier insistence, remains a whirlwind of ponies, art supplies, and dolls. I carefully maneuver around the chaos until I reach the edge of her unmade bed. With a knee, I manage to shift aside the blankets just enough to lay her down in her favorite spot. After some gentle adjustments, I tuck her in, placing Bunny on her right and her Minions blanket on her left, ensuring the covers sit snugly under her chin.

Looking down at her, I can’t shake the feeling of having lost my favorite blanket. The warmth is still there, but the comforting weight is fading. I can’t predict how many more times I’ll have the chance to carry her like this. I don’t know how much longer she’ll remain my little girl, or when she’ll outgrow my embrace and no longer seek me for comfort and love. These moments pass so quickly, often without even realizing it, and I dread the thought of that day. So, I hold onto this weight for as long as she allows.

I breathe in her sweet scent of maple and markers, committing it to memory as I draw closer. I believe in my ability to lift her, to safely guide her where she needs to go, and to leave her when the time comes.

A soft huff momentarily disrupts the quiet of her room as she shifts and curls up on her side, before settling once more. I smooth the covers down one final time, kiss her forehead, and quietly exit her room, whispering a heartfelt “I love you” with a wish for sweet dreams.

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In summary, this touching reflection captures the bittersweet nature of motherhood, showcasing the fleeting moments of tenderness as a mother carries her sleeping child. It highlights the emotional weight of these experiences and the conscious effort to cherish them while they last.

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