Sleep has always been a challenge for my eldest child. In those early years, I found a strange comfort in the nightly struggle, as her deep need for me eased the guilt I felt about spending long hours away at a job I detested. The tender kisses I planted on her forehead and the way our fingers intertwined helped stitch together the frayed edges of my conscience. Now at nine, sleep remains just as elusive.
“Mom, I’m not tired,” she pouts. “Can I read for a bit?”
“Of course, but not for too long, okay?” I reply.
“Will you cuddle me first?” my youngest, Mia, calls from the bathroom counter.
Before I can respond, my middle child, Grace, interjects, “That’s not fair! She always gets the first cuddle.” I feel a flicker of frustration.
“It’s fine, Grace. I’ll cuddle Mia first, and then I promise to spend extra time with you,” I murmur, trying to keep my annoyance in check.
“Forget it! Grace can have the first cuddle!” Mia shouts as she hops down from her stool.
“MIA, you can’t just switch!” Grace retorts.
“Alright, alright. Let’s have a double cuddle in the bottom bunk, how about that?” I suggest. Their response is a flurry of giggles and the sound of fleece pajamas diving under the blankets.
I take a moment to tidy up the bathroom, wiping away toothpaste blobs and splashes of water around the superhero toothbrushes suctioned to the wall. As I make my way to their room, I peek into Lily’s space. “You okay?” I ask. She doesn’t look up, her finger tracing the lines of her favorite graphic novel. A tuft of hair hangs over her glasses, and a small scab on her cheek reminds me of her latest adventure.
“I’m fine,” she replies softly.
“Need anything?” I ask again, and she shakes her head. “I’ll be in to kiss you after I’m done with your sisters.” She nods, and I let out a deep breath as I slip into the bottom bunk with Grace and Mia. They wiggle and squirm, elbows nudging me as they jockey for space.
“Sorry, sorry, Mom,” they whisper in unison.
“It’s okay,” I reassure them. We settle into a cozy spooning position, their tiny hands wrapping around me. As I feel a little hand tugging at my hair, I suppress a grimace. “Girls,” I warn. My desire to escape, free from the responsibilities of parenting, clashes with the love I hold for them. My body tenses, and I inhale deeply as Mia wraps her arm around me and touches Grace’s hand.
“Hey, stop it! That’s my spot on Mom,” Grace hisses.
“She’s not just your mom, you know,” Mia counters.
“Alright, girls, let’s wrap this up with a hug and a kiss before it’s night-night time, okay?” They soften, and I embrace Grace, whispering how much I love her. We tumble out of bed together, and I lift her into the top bunk. We rub noses before I turn back to Mia, who stretches her arms wide, beaming.
“My mama, come here!” we find ourselves nose-to-nose, then cheek-to-cheek, followed by a soft kiss, a medium kiss, and finally a playful peck that always ends with her teeth clashing against my lip. My eyes well up, I stifle a wince, and pull away.
“Goodnight, girls.” Their love-filled shouts echo as I leave the room, my shoulders relaxing as I finally feel done.
In Lily’s room, the light is off, and her glasses sit lens-down on the nightstand. I tiptoe over, brush a stray hair from her face, and kiss her goodnight. Just as I turn to leave, her arms wrap around my neck.
“Mom, please don’t go,” she pleads.
I suppress a sigh of frustration. I was so close to enjoying my quiet time. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I just can’t sleep,” she admits, her eyes wide. My mind races to the candle flickering downstairs and the soothing sounds of the evening awaiting me. I can feel the urge to indulge in a glass of wine or perhaps some tea; I crave that calm.
But then I see her expression, and something inside me shifts. The connection I felt with her as a baby stirs anew. “Scoot over,” I whisper, crawling into bed beside her.
“Do you want me to rub your back?” she asks hopefully.
I chuckle softly. “No, my love. You know what I really want?” She shakes her head, and I continue, “I just want to fall asleep with you for a little while.”
The moonlight bathes the room in a soft glow, and as her breathing steadies and she drifts off, a tear escapes my eye. I don’t know where this moment of grace came from, nor do I expect it to linger until the next bedtime. But tonight, I managed to hold onto my patience. I smile at my firstborn, letting the tears cleanse me of everything but the certainty that I still remember how to savor the beauty of bedtime.
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Summary
This blog post explores the challenges of bedtime with children, reflecting on the balance between personal needs and the demands of parenting. It delves into the emotional connections formed during these nightly rituals and the fleeting moments of grace and patience that can arise in the chaos of family life.
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