Running from the Law: In the Still of the Night

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Sunday, May 12, 2013

In the Still of the Night

Day 12 of the "Blog Every Day in May" challenge:


"What do you miss?"



It's 2:20 a.m. on a Tuesday night as I sit in the dark cool nursery, wrapped in a fleece blanket, snuggling a tired and scared baby boy and write this post in my head.  He had a nightmare, I think.  Another one.  They're getting more and more frequent.  He wakes up scared and confused and disoriented.  Sometimes he doesn't even open his eyes, he just sits up in his crib and screams.  When I open the door, he can sense my presence and for a minute, he gets absolutely hysterical.  He reaches for me, grasping the air, grabbing handfuls of my shirt, my hair, my necklace.  He pulls himself into my chest as hard as he can and buries his face in my neck.  Sometimes the sobbing stops instantly.  Sometimes it takes a few deep breaths, maybe some bouncing, sometimes he needs to hear my voice as I hold him tight and whisper "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" into his ear.  He calms.  It breaks my heart to think that he was scared and alone in the dark for even just a few minutes.  But I'm here now.  I'm all he needs.  I'm his touchstone, his safe haven, his mama.  I exist to make it all better.  In a few years I'll be ridding his closet of monsters and battling the boogie man that lives under his bed.  But for now, all he needs is me.  My touch, my warmth, my voice.  I have mama magic.

I move to the rocking chair and wrap the two of us in a soft warm blanket.  He lays his head in the crook of my arm and looks up at me, making sure I'm still there.  It's dark, but I can just make out the features of his face by the soft glow of the nightlight.  I smile and give him a soft warm kiss on his cool forehead.  He closes his eyes and buries his face in my neck.  I take a deep breath and take in his scent as he takes in mine.  We rock, our bodies pressed as close together as we can get so we can feel each other's heartbeat.  He fits so perfectly against me, curled in all the right places, like two perfectly matched puzzle pieces.  We were made for each other.  And we rock.  I notice that he's getting longer every day and his feet now stick off my lap beyond my knees. His little arms wrap up around my neck and my arms stretch all the way around him to envelope him, like a mommy octopus.  And we rock.  Back  and forth in the moonlight.  Listening to the sound of the rain from his white noise machine and taking in the stillness of the room.  Everyone else in the house is fast asleep, it's just us awake.  We're the only people in the whole world.  And we rock.  After a few minutes he relaxes and gently, gradually lets go.  I loosen my embrace around him and let him slide down into my arms into his usual cradle position.  His feet stop moving, his hands unclench and he starts snoring ever so slightly.  And we rock.  

As gently and nimbly as I can, I get him moved to his crib and in his favorite sleeping position, face down, butt up, arms and legs curled in tight.  I pat him on the back a few times and say a prayer in my mind over his sleeping body.  I sneak out of the room and back into my own bed.  My sheets are cool, but I can still feel the warm spot on my chest where his cheek was resting a few minutes ago.  I wrap the blankets around me and try to drift off to sleep for the third time this night.  We'll probably do this all again in an hour or two.  It's going to be a long night, followed by an early morning.

I miss sleep.  But in the meantime, I'm not missing a moment.



17 comments:

  1. You write beautifully!

    I know the feeling, while I may internally complain when Lincoln wakes in the middle of the night/morning, they are the most precious snuggles.

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  2. Oh boy. After being up 4 times last night (once from 12am-2am) this made me cry.

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  3. Beautifully written.
    This sounds very much like us a few months ago. I spoke with the pediatrician and she suggested it's possibly (probably) night terrors. Sadly, they come and go in "waves." I hope Little Man (and you) can find some peaceful sleep soon.

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  4. this is beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Elyse hasn't experienced night terrors...yet. And to be a little light-hearted about it, Nick always said that Elyse was chasing her pacifier and just couldn't quite reach it!

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  5. This is amazing. I may have teared up, dang you!

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  6. As I write this, I realize how dumb it sounds, but I didn't realize little ones had nightmares that young. Poor kid!

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  7. Hudson had night terrors for a while and this sounds like poor Mac is having them too! Broke my mama heart and then I read that you're not supposed to wake them up to comfort them! I would sit and rub his back until he calmed down. So sorry little man is going through this :(

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  8. "I have mama magic"
    Beautifully said my friend.
    Those nights are hard but we have to cherish those moments. <3

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  9. This is beautiful. So much of motherhood is so conflicted, and this is a very sweet example. I love it. (And I pretty much never suggest this, and you may have addressed it, but have you considered cosleeping until he gets over this?)

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  10. You really do have a writing talent (among many other things). So precious to remember these moments as tiring as they are- they will only be this little once!

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  11. Tears- tears for Mac having a nightmares and tears for your sweet, sweet post! So beautiful. Moments like that make missing sleep not so bad :)

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  12. LOVE this, so wonderfully said Mama!! You are obviously one amazing Mom.

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  13. I love your writing. Thanks for sharing!

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  14. Love. Much nicer words than I can write about night wakes ;)

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  15. Aww, this is such a sweet, beautiful post. It made me cry. I hope the night terrors go away soon. That breaks my heart.

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  16. Please don't ever stop writing.

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