I perch on the end of your bed now, with your little sister in tow, to get you to sleep.
The juggling act of two at bedtime means that, logistically, I can no longer cuddle you to sleep. Maybe it’s just the natural course of things. After all, you don’t seem to be upset by it. But I am.
We are inadvertently doing the old ‘disappearing chair’ technique that I swore I never would. I’m edging further and further away.
You are happy enough just to know that I’m there in some capacity.
We chat for a while. I try out new ways to comfort you. A consolatory open palm on your leg. A hold of your hand.
In your other hand, is your Mr. Incredible figure, whom you grip onto for dear life. Funny really, my velcro baby who refused every comfort blanket going, suddenly seeking solace in a lump of plastic.
Your baby sister is in my arms. The sweetest bundle. I feed her to sleep and watch her deep brown eyes go from heavy lids, to heavier still, to finally closed over.
All the while, I am thinking, “This was you. This was you.”
Is it bad that I find myself suddenly grateful for your nightmares? That moment in the middle of the night when I go back to being ‘Mummy’, rather than ‘Mum’. Where, for a minute there, I get to be your everything again.
Oh, the privilege to be the one who can placate you in mere seconds with those two words: “Mummy’s here”.
Because I am.
I am still here.
Source: Mother Truths