Tonight I was struck with awe at how tiny you still are. I snuggled you close, in the soft and faded pajamas that were once mine, and let you fall asleep on my chest.
I turned my head so my tears of gratitude wouldn’t fall on you or disturb you. I laid you down as gently as I could and whispered you back to sleep when you inevitably stirred. I shook my head in amazement as you fell quickly back into sleep and prayed, I don’t deserve these people, but thank you.
Tonight I tucked your sister in and then came back out to the living room to hear you and your daddy giggling and chatting. I smiled and joined in, and admired the words and sentences you are stringing together so well these days.
We snuggled up on the couch for bedtime stories and I hugged your little body close to me and thought about how someday you will be taller than me. I imagine I’ll probably think of this very moment, or at least one like it, when you walk through my door and look down to talk to me.
Tonight I felt that almost ever-present pull. I wanted everything and nothing at once. I wanted to spend a few hours of quality time with your dad, just him and me, like it used to be. I wanted to wake you both up and hold you in my arms, tickle you and sing to you and hug you. I wanted to sleep. Oh, how I wanted to sleep.
Tonight I pushed the laundry to the other side of the couch and snuggled with your dad instead. I prayed for wisdom and guidance in motherhood, for kindness and respect towards my family, for teamwork and laughter in my marriage. I thought about all the silly things I used to pray about and smiled because that seems like a million years ago. Tonight this little family of mine is the only thing in the world that really matters.