She woke close to her normal time, and cried out for someone, anyone to rescue her from the confines of her lonely crib. She made it 4 hours, which is a victory – in the sick and twisted parental-trenches-kind-of-way. She’s 19 months and a ball of fire in the best way.
There have been countless nights of pleading with her to go to bed; to stay in bed; to sleep like a big girl. Countless nights of wishing we didn’t have to step so gently or purposefully on our old wooden floors. Nights we wish we had more time to connect with one another before one of us was lost to the rocking chair and the other to exhaustion.
Her favorite spot is between the two of us, nestled between plush pillows and warm bodies. It is here that she falls into a deep sleep. It’s the kind of rest that’s elusive for most of us – it comes from feeling both safe and connected.
I’ve lost my patience with her. I’ve yelled. I’ve pleaded. I’ve cursed. I’ve prayed. I’ve put her down in her crib too forcefully for my own liking.
But last night I listened, and wept.
As she pressed her tiny self into my chest and guided my arm around her she breathed deeply and fell fast asleep – in her favorite spot – between the two of us.
I couldn’t help but think…
We are the lucky ones;
For what we have and who we hold.
We are the fortunate ones;
That we can be exhausted together and not alone.
We are the privileged ones;
That tiny hands reach for our faces in the middle of the night.
I’m learning that no matter what I breathe in; joy or sorrow, goodness or tragedy, laughter or heartache, connection or loneliness, rest or exhaustion; that my every exhale is an opportunity to breathe out thanksgiving for all that I have and who I hold.