Mommy Thoughts

From the two tiny whispers of noise I hear upstairs, I know that it's you who is awake and not one of your siblings. I hear from that small, "oh" that you're in need of help in the bathroom. 

I run up the 18 stairs to see that I'm there a little too late. Oh well, no problem. It happens sometimes. 

I pop you into the tub and start the shower as you remind me in a small voice to make sure that it's not too 'hot-y' or too 'cold-y'. You rub your eyes, not sure if you need to cry or sleep or trust that mommy has got this under control.

I can't reach your towel so I grab my fluffy yellow one and ask in a silly voice if it's Eli or a burrito in there. Your eyes light up with a smile and a flash of fun before staring off, smile fading, as shadows of sleep invade your little face. 

I carry you to the door of your room where daddy crosses our path, mop in hand. He asks who the person is that has stolen mama's towel. You smile and whisper, "daddy..." in a tone that shows you know full well daddy is teasing. "Are you a baby again?" Daddy asks. You take a breath and think about saying, "no, a big boy" like you've been insisting these past weeks, but instead you surrender with a sigh. "Yeah."

Together we sit on the rug on the floor. I hold you and think how you will forget this night, these moments. The monotony of every day life that moulds a mother's heart. You stare at the wall behind me, eyelashes moving down and up, down and up, slowly inviting sleep. I kiss underneath your left cheek, knowing you hide a tickle in that spot. You giggle and wake enough to ensure that it's the sheriff pyjama top and red shorts that are chosen and then, instead of putting you in bed, I scoot back-against-the-wall and cradle you in my arms. Just as I've always done. 

I kiss your head through tufts of brown hair. Your breathing settles into a slow deep rhythm. Downstairs daddy makes a loud noise. He's fixing a door that won't lock, ensuring that our home is secure before bed. The noise makes you jump. I move my hand from my knee to your back. You twist your tiny body closer to mine and sigh one big sigh. 

I kiss your head 20 times more then, lifting you up and squeezing you tight. I bring you to the the bed that you and your brother have turned into a tent, while I thought that you were sleeping.

I lay you down and with eyes still closed you find your teddies and settle down. "A cuddle, mommy." Your voice muffles from behind your dodo. Once, twice, three times you adjust your little arms ensuring that the hug is tight and close. "I love you" I whisper. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone. "Love you. Too. Mommy." Sleep envelopes you. Your arms relax. I slip away. You will forget these moments, but I will not.