Dreams for You and Me

I’m roused from precious sleep, instantly alert. Listening for you. It's a skill all mothers master, flipping the switch from asleep to awake. I remember when sleep was an ocean, endless depths of waves and dreams. Tranquil, restful, lovely. Now sleep is fragmented, like a shallow puddle often stirred by little feet. You can’t help but splash through it. And I don’t mind. Most of the time. Sure enough, the door creaks and tiny footsteps patter across the floor. You stop beside the bed, thumb firmly in your mouth. Itty Bitty Bunny tucked lovingly under one arm. Your blond hair looks almost blue in the dark, sticking to your sleepy face. I lift you into bed, half-noticing you feel heavier. You're getting bigger every day. No longer my baby, but always my baby. You nestle into my side, pulling on the blanket, hogging the pillow. Your breathing is already steady, and I know you feel so safe tucked against your mom. How I love being your mom! My body is so tired, but my mind is so awake. I’m not ready for sleep to pull the curtain across this moment. You’re a ball of heat beside me, a source of warmth – the greatest comfort in a world growing so cold. I’ll take fragments of sleep, always, in exchange for these moments. And you can have the tranquil ocean, dreaming sweet dreams for you and for me.