Flanked

I woke up this morning flanked on both sides by my little girls, who at 4 and 5, are not so little anymore. Macey, my baby, turned 4 years old yesterday. Birthdays are always bittersweet to me, like all milestones, because they are reminders that the time is passing so quickly. I am so proud of my children and the people they are growing into-happy, healthy, independent, kind people-but sad that they are rapidly approaching stages in their lives that will require less and less of me.

All parents know that overwhelming sense of euphoria when your baby first comes into the world. I expected this awe to decrease with each birth when, in fact, it almost became more intense. I have been blessed with three perfect children; three little miracles that are each their own individuals created from pieces of all of the people I love. While I see things in them that remind me of my family, they are all uniquely themselves. Hunter is an intense old soul with a gentleness that seems rare in many young boys. Maia is reserved with her emotions but fierce in her love for others. Macey is an affectionate and sentimental peacemaker. And, they are all simply amazing.

All parents also know that with children comes a loss of all privacy. Since giving birth to Hunter nine and a half years ago, I have yet to spend a shower, trip to the restroom, meal, or bed in my house without the interruption of a little person glut with random questions and observations that he or she is dying to share at just that moment. As odd as it may sound, this doesn't bother me at all. My children know that I am always there to listen to them even when they want to discuss complicated facts of nature while I am shaving my legs. I am glad that I have replicated the kind of home that I grew up in where conversations and questions flow freely and without reserve. It is my job to teach these little people everything that I know about the world no matter what time it is when their urge to talk surfaces.

I have also, in nine and a half years, not had a string of three unawakened nights of sleep in a row. Someone always needs something. Someone has always had a bad dream. Someone always just needs some middle of the night snuggles. As much as I may complain about this, I know that all too soon these moments will have passed. And, I will miss them. These rare and precious moments of babyhood have been unexpected times of peace and love that I never imagined would mean so much to me.

As much as I have tried to outlaw little sleeping buddies in my bed, I just can't. Even though my sleep isn't the most restful on these nights, I love when a random little foot makes its way up over my side when I am sleeping or when a random little hand reaches over to just touch my arm. These subconscious moments of pure love are just bliss.

Last night, Macey came into my room at 2 am. "Mom, I had a really bad dream. Can I snuggle with you?" In half sleep, I simply rolled over, lifted her into my bed, pulled the covers up, and went back to sleep. Three hours later it was Maia "Mom, I'm not feeling good. Can I sleep with you?" Once again, I just moved over, lifted her up, covered her with the blankets, and drifted back to sleep. When I woke up in the morning, flanked on both sides by my precious girls, I didn't even mind the crick in my neck. The small area for sleep left for me may have been physically tiny, but it was emotionally boundless.

I know that pretty soon, I will no longer wake up with tiny fingers brushing my face. Although I will have slept better, I will miss these random moments of serenity amidst the chaos of life. As I now do with Hunter, who at almost ten is a rare figure at my bedside, I will no doubt end up once a week curled up besides one of them in their beds where instead it will be my big hand reaching over in the middle of the night to stroke their arms.