Sleep has always been a bit of a challenge for my eldest daughter, Mia. In those early years, there was something bittersweetly beautiful about our nighttime battles. Her desperate need for closeness made my long hours at a job I didn’t enjoy seem less burdensome. The gentle kisses I planted on her forehead and the way our fingers intertwined soothed my guilt like a warm blanket. Now at nine, sleep is just as elusive for her.
“Mom, I’m just not tired,” she pouts, lips jutting out. “Can I read for a bit?”
“Of course, but not for too long, alright?” I reply.
“Mom, will you cuddle me first?” calls my youngest, Zoe, from the bathroom counter.
Before I can respond, Mia interjects, “It’s not fair! She always gets the first cuddle.” My irritation simmers beneath the surface.
“It’s okay, Mia. I’ll cuddle Zoe first, and then I’ll give you extra time,” I murmur, trying to keep my annoyance at bay.
“Forget it, forget it! Zoe can have the first cuddle,” Zoe exclaims, hopping down from her stool.
“MIA, you can’t just let her take that!” Mia protests, her voice rising.
“Okay, okay! How about we have a double cuddle in the bottom bunk?” I suggest, trying to diffuse the tension. Their response is an excited flurry of giggles and the sound of fleece pajamas flying under the covers.
As I clean up the bathroom, wiping toothpaste globs from the sink and splashes of water around the superhero toothbrushes, I peek into Ella’s room. “You okay?” I ask. She doesn’t look up, too engrossed in her Dork Diary. A wild tuft of hair hangs over her glasses, and I notice a small scab on her cheek, likely from a recent tussle over a toy.
“I’m fine,” she murmurs.
“Need anything?” I inquire. She shakes her head. “I’ll come kiss you after I’m done with the little ones.” She nods in acknowledgment.
Taking a deep breath, I slip beneath the covers between Mia and Zoe. They squirm and jostle for space, elbows colliding with my sides.
“Sorry! Sorry, Mom,” they whisper in unison.
“It’s alright,” I assure them. We settle into a spooning position, their little hands finding their way to me. As Mia inadvertently yanks my hair, I fight the urge to grimace. “Girls,” I warn lightly. My impatience battles with my affection, and my body tenses. Zoe wraps her arm around me, and Mia complains, “Hey, that’s my spot on Mom!”
“She’s not just your mom, Mia,” Zoe retorts.
“Alright, my loves, let’s share cuddles. A hug and a kiss for each of you before it’s night-night time?” They soften at my words. I embrace Mia, whispering sweet nothings into her neck, and she squeezes me tight. Together, we tumble out of bed, and I lift her into the top bunk. We rub noses in our little ritual. Then, it’s time for Zoe, who beams at me with open arms.
“My mama! Come here!” We nuzzle nose-to-nose, then transition to cheek-to-cheek. We share a soft kiss, a medium kiss, and then her trademark hard kiss, which inevitably results in her teeth clashing with my upper lip. Tears spring to my eyes as I suppress a wince and pull away.
“Goodnight, girls,” I call as I leave, their chorus of “love yous” echoing behind me. My shoulders sag in relief—finally done.
In Ella’s room, the light is off, and her glasses rest on the nightstand. I tread softly inside, brushing hair from her face and planting a kiss on her forehead. Just as I’m about to slip away, her arms wrap around my neck.
“Mom, please don’t go,” she whispers.
A small whimper escapes me. I was nearly free! “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I just can’t sleep,” she admits. My mind drifts to the candle burning downstairs, the prospect of winding down with a glass of wine or perhaps tea. The warmth of the fire beckons me.
She watches me intently. For a fleeting moment, I’m tempted to think of my own needs, but then I see something in her eyes—a familiar pull reminiscent of when she was a baby. “Scoot over,” I whisper, sliding into bed beside her.
“Do you want me to rub your back?” she asks hopefully.
I chuckle softly. “No, sweetheart. You know what I really want?” She shakes her head. “I just want to fall asleep with you for a little while.”
The moon casts a soothing blue glow through the window. As her breathing steadies and she drifts off, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I don’t know where this moment of grace came from, but I’m certain it will vanish before the next bedtime. This night, however, I didn’t lose my patience. I smile at my firstborn and let the tears flow, washing away everything but the realization that I still remember how to love bedtime.
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In summary, this heartwarming account highlights the nightly routine of a mother trying to juggle the needs of her children while also finding moments of peace and connection. It emphasizes the bittersweet nature of parenting, the significance of bedtime rituals, and the beauty found in small, tender moments.