The other day, in the wee smalls I lay sleeping. Blissfully, blissfully sleeping.
And then I felt a little hand lightly touch my arm, and I was awake.
I don’t know what time it was. My (still asleep) brain thought that it was morning, as that is how I am awakened every morning. And yet, this was before that typical time-frame. I know it was still dark, and my hunch is that it was somewhere after 1am and somewhere before 5am, but I don’t know for sure. It doesn’t really matter.
I reached over for him, my silent little man who sneaks in on cat paws and always manages to wake me up more gently than you think a 3 year old could. I reached over as he put up his arms, and while I lifted he sorta-kinda-notreally jumped until he was in the bed, and then on my chest. And then with a little sigh, he rolled over next to me, curled into the crook of my arm, and fell back to sleep.
I can count on one hand the number of times Jackson has slept in bed with us. Heck, he rarely even slept on me during grownup waking hours as a baby. Even as a newborn, he wanted–no, NEEDED–personal space to sleep. Even when he’s sick, he usually wants to be in his own bed. It is an extraordinarily rare event for him to sleep on or near anyone else. And while I wouldn’t want it on an ongoing basis if I could help it…
Last night was a lovely, lovely little anomaly.
Even as I drifted back to sleep, I had the thought, “This is pretty awesome.” And when I woke up later, his body curved into my side, I was aware that this was one of those small, minor, inconsequential moments of parenthood that fill your heart up with love and tenderness and heartbreak for how perfect and fleeting it is in its ordinariness. This little being, who once pushed up on my ribs from the other side, is now old enough to walk into my room in the middle of the night, climb into bed, and fall asleep next to me. It’ll only be a nanosecond before he’s too old to want to cuddle in the morning, a heartbeat before he doesn’t want to hug in front of his friends, a small simple intake of breath before he is grown and gone.
And yet, I get moments like this one in a dark room in a cozy bed with the moon filtering in through the curtains and a little boy, tucked into the crook of my arm and around curve of my ribs, sighing a little sigh of contentment as he drifts off to sleep next to me.
No tags for this post.