Creaking springs wake me up. Another night has passed and you’ve stayed in your bed. Another night when you didn’t ask to sleep “in the big bed.” I sense you there and open my eyes to yours. “Mommy,” you ask. I lift you into bed and pull the covers up. You close your eyes against the sun. You snuggle and shift. I look at you and see your smile.
Eyes closed.
Not the big toothy grin of mischievous thoughts.
Not the eye-batting smile of ImsocuteyouhavetodowhatIwant.
Not the full-faced grin of joy when you play.
This smile is one of months and years past. The satisfied smile of an unexpected swallow of milk or the rarely well-placed SNS. The peaceful smile of a dry diaper, a full tummy and tightly-swaddled limbs. The contented smile of curled up with your sisters among the beeps and clatter of the NICU.
The moment is short-lived. Soon Shira wakes up and bounces from bed. Batya joins her in shouting, “Chaya! Chaya!” We are all up and running and the moment is just a sweet memory.
Tonight you’ll tell me that you want to sleep in the yellow bed. With “Shia.” You’ll sleep, tucked into bed with her until the sun starts peeking through the curtains.
Maybe tomorrow night you’ll tell me that you want to sleep with me. Or I might just have to be content with that before-bed cuddle and early-morning snuggle.
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