There are nights when I lie in bed, and my mind drifts to thoughts of you. I reflect on our day together, replaying moments in my head—both the things I did and the things I wish I had done differently. I think about the words I spoke and the ones I left unsaid, the times my actions may have cast a fleeting shadow over your bright smile.
I remember the mistakes I made throughout the day, wishing I could rewind and change my responses. Like that time you spilled your cereal all over the kitchen floor. You were just trying to help by bringing your bowl to the sink, and instead of understanding, I snapped at you. I could have said, “No worries, sweetheart! Mama spills too. Thank you for bringing that!” I should have handed you the broom so you could sweep it up like a big kid; you would have loved that.
Then there was the moment you excitedly came to me with your favorite book, “First 100 Trucks.” Instead of embracing that joyful request for the millionth time, I brushed you off, thinking of my impending headache. I should have taken a moment, popped an Advil, and savored the weight of your tiny body curled up in my lap as you pointed out your favorite aerial ladder truck.
I also think about how I muttered, “ugh, seriously?” when you refused to eat the fish bites I made, opting instead to zoom around the kitchen like an airplane. You’re a toddler in a world full of wonder and imagination. I could have turned that into a fun moment, saying something like “Airplanes need fuel!” and handed you a Nutri-Grain bar to keep our adventures going.
When you pulled my hair and I lost my patience, dragging you to your room instead of calming down, I regret that too. You fell, tears in your eyes, and I regret not scooping you up and saying, “I’m sorry. Mama has bad days too.” Instead, I closed the door, leaving you alone with your sadness.
And that squabble between you and your sibling over who would sit on my lap? I pushed you both away instead of suggesting a snuggle party. You both just wanted to be close to me, and I missed a chance to embrace that.
I often worry about how quickly you’re growing up, and it scares me. I realize how much time I’ve spent getting upset over trivial things, and I wish I could have been more present. My heart is so full of love for you that it feels like it might just burst, like an overstuffed pillow.
As you sleep in your own bed, I feel a pang of longing. It’s when you’re out of reach that I truly understand how much I want to hold you close while I still can. And on those restless nights, the ache drives me to consider sneaking into your room, lifting you into my arms, and holding you tightly against my heart. I want to whisper “I’m sorry” as you nestle against me, feeling the rhythm of your breath sync with my heartbeat.
But I hold back from waking you, not wanting to disrupt your peaceful dreams as my thoughts have disrupted mine. Instead, I settle into my pillow, promising myself that tomorrow will be better and filled with more uplifting thoughts.