As I glance to my right, I notice her eyes are peacefully shut. I lean in closer, confirming that her normally animated face has softened into restful tranquility. Sleep must have crept in during the movie, gently urging her to surrender to the sweet dreams swirling in her mind.
A mixture of warmth and bittersweet nostalgia washes over me. I know what lies ahead. Quietly, I rise from my cozy spot on the couch, shuffle the coffee table aside, and assess the task at hand. This time, she’s brought her beloved Minions blanket and her giant blue bunny along for the ride. I carefully place Bunny in front of her, wrap her up snugly in her blanket, and lift the entire bundle into my arms.
With bare feet alert for any trip hazards that her brother might have left behind, I navigate through the dimly lit basement toward the stairs. Holding her close, I ascend 17 steps, balancing the weight of my little girl, her cherished toy, and the soft blanket. It’s not the weight that concerns me; it’s the fear of bumping her head or her little legs against a doorframe.
I realize these moments are fleeting. I won’t always be the one she drifts off beside, the one she chooses to watch movies with, or the one whose arms she seeks for comfort. As she grows, these cherished aspects of motherhood will gradually fade away.
Reaching the cool hardwood of the main hall, I instinctively lean in to shield her from the harsh overhead light. The sounds of my partner typing away with ESPN playing softly in the background fill the air. I whisper “shhh” near her ears to keep her from waking and carefully turn the corner toward the next flight of stairs. My eldest, Lucas, sits engrossed in whatever sports highlight is flashing across the screen, seemingly oblivious to my presence—or perhaps deliberately ignoring me to avoid being encouraged to start his bedtime routine.
It’s hard to read him sometimes. He’s growing up so fast, still sporting that delightful grin he had as a baby, one that can light up my world and break my heart all at once. I pull my focus back to my sleeping bundle, her stirring momentarily distracting me. I bounce her gently against my chest, willing her to stay asleep, and thankfully, she does. I flick off the light with my elbow, and we continue our ascent.
With 15 more steps to go, I feel confident in my ability to reach our destination without any issues. I’ve tackled far more challenging tasks since embracing motherhood, and I know that the truly demanding moments lie ahead. I won’t let her slip from my grasp, holding on with all the strength I possess.
Upon entering her room, I navigate around scattered toys and art supplies until I reach the edge of her unmade bed. I manage to shift the blankets aside with my knee, creating just enough space to lay her down in her favorite spot. A bit of finessing with her legs and I tuck her in—Bunny to her right, Minions blanket to her left, bedding snugly wrapped just below her chin. Looking down at her, I’m reminded of how I long for the comforting weight of her presence.
I can’t predict how many more times I’ll have the chance to carry her like this. The thought of her growing up is bittersweet, and I dread the moment when she’ll be too big for my arms. For now, I’ll cherish every ounce of weight she allows me to hold.
I breathe in her familiar scent of maple and markers, committing it to memory while believing in my strength to lift her whenever she needs me. A soft sigh interrupts the stillness of her room as she turns onto her side, and I gently smooth the covers down one last time. I kiss her head and quietly retreat from her room, whispering a heartfelt “I love you” as I wish for her sweet dreams.
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Summary
Carrying my sleepy child is a bittersweet reminder of the fleeting nature of motherhood. Each moment spent holding her close is precious, and I cherish the weight of her presence while I can. As she grows, I know these moments will become memories, and I’ll hold onto them tightly.
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