(For those who followed my previous blog this post may look familiar. Last night was another “edge of the bed” type of night that allowed for some 3:30am reflection time on how precious these moments are… wanted to share again in my new blogging space!)
Her little voice pulled me out of bed sometime around 3am last night. Down the hall to the room with the moon nightlight shining on the ceiling. She was standing in her crib, stuffed animals tucked tight against her, hair covering half of her face.
I picked her up and cuddled her close, “What’s wrong sweetheart?”
She looked at me with wide eyes and pointed back down the hall to our room. I carried her there, settling her in bed between Steve and I. It didn’t take long for her to stretch out, diagonal across the middle, pushing me to the edge of the bed. She drifted back to sleep.
Me on the other hand… I stayed in a hazy half-sleep for a while. Her feet against my back, as well as the knowledge that I’d have to pick her up and carry her back to her crib, kept me partially awake.
I don’t know when I finally did lift her up from our bed, kiss her soft forehead, and lay her down in her crib once more. I do know that my alarm went off too soon afterwards and I hit snooze an extra time.I used to think I wouldn’t be one to let my kids come in bed with me. I was wrong.
Maybe I bring her in because it’s easier for me to lay back down with her quiet by my side than to listen to her cry. Maybe I just can’t resist those middle of the night cuddles. Or maybe Faith changed the way I parent. I guess I’ll never know that for sure, but I suspect it’s true in some ways.
I’m tired today, but that’s okay. Someday she won’t call my name in the night, won’t need me to lift her from her crib to hug her and kiss her and comfort her. But until then… I don’t mind the edge of the bed.