My Sleeping Child

I wake up from a deep sleep in the middle of the night and know that within moments my child will also awake. She will be crying because a bad dream or because she will be needing a late night snack. Maybe she just wants her mommy to hold and comfort her for no reason at all. I instinctively go to her crib and remove her from it. We quietly go to the rocking chair, the same one in which my mother rocked me. Her crying has stopped and we rock- her body fitting perfectly in my arms, her warm toes nestling in my side, and one tiny hand firmly holding my hair.

These are the moments I miss most with my girls. Now that one daughter is a toddler and the other a pre-schooler, they rarely becken me in the night. So, I find myself missing those late night rendezvous when everyone else is asleep and the world is still. Possibly that explains why I find myself peering into my children's rooms when they are in the land of Blynken and Nod.

I suppose I, like all moms, find a special pleasure in watching my children sleep. The responsibilities of parenthood are put to rest for a while. For me, it goes further than that. It is a spiritual experience- a time when I feel connected to my children in an indescribable way. When I look at their sleeping faces, I see myself, my ancestors, and my descendants.

Although I perform this ritual often, I do it differently almost every time. I sometimes stand in the entrance of one of my girls' rooms and listen to the steady rhythm of her breathing. When she was a baby, I recall listening for her breathing to make sure she indeed was. But now, it’s different- I’m listening to my young child as an audience would listen to a great concerto. As I listen to her quick breaths, I begin to think about my role as her mother. I realize that this child's memories will be shaped as a result of my action and REactions. What a responsibility! How can I measure up?

At other times, I creep into my daughter's room and sit on the bed beside her. Amongst the fragments of moonlight, I can see her sweet little rounded face, a face of peace. Her eyes may flutter and an angelic smile might grace her rosy-cheeked face as if she feels my presence in her state of slumber. I pick up her tiny hand as she curls her fingers around my own in the same way she did as an infant. I imagine these fingers playing the piano one day, performing surgery, or perhaps holding a little miracle of her own.

As I sit attentively watching my child, I say a simple prayer aloud,
"Grant me the wisdom to make the right decisions for this little one. Surround this precious lamb with a flock of your best angels and protect her from any injustices. Help her to maintain the innocence and purity she now carries in that tiny beating heart. Amen."

If I've had a particularly hard day or maybe just in need of some "cuddling" as my girls affectionately call it, I go a step further. I push the bedtime toys aside and lie next to my sleeping child who has death grip on her favorite baby doll, Julie. I stroke her hair, wet at the brow and neck. I lie there quietly reflecting on the day's events, planning the next, and am startled when she turns over and says, "Hi Mommy. I love you," without ever really coming into complete consciousness. And I think, "No one ever told me motherhood was like this!"

When I settle into my own bed next to my handsome husband, a sadness comes over me when I realize these moments with my girls are fleeting. They will grow up and won't be the same little girls who want to cuddle. I'll become MOM or MOTHER, not Mommy. Our relationship will inevitably change. Will they remember these special times? Will they still want to confide in me? And then, something in me wants to make time stand still so that they could remain toddlers with eager smiles and endless hugs. But alas, I realize I must put aside my own selfish needs and concerns, and look toward the future- a future of evolution for my precious daughters and me.