Updated: July 2, 2020
Originally Published: September 8, 2015
As I lie awake at night, my mind often drifts to thoughts of you. I replay the day in my head, reflecting on what I did or didn’t do for you. I consider the words I spoke, and the ones I left unspoken that might have made a difference.
I remember the moments when my reactions may have cast a fleeting shadow of disappointment on your usually joyful face. I dwell on my missteps, wishing I could turn back time and do things differently.
I think back to that moment when you accidentally spilled your cereal all over the kitchen floor while trying to help. Instead of responding with patience, I raised my voice. In hindsight, I could have said, “No worries, sweetheart. Mama spills, too. Thanks for bringing me your bowl.” I could have given you the broom and let you feel like a big boy by helping clean it up.
Then there was the time you brought me that “First 100 Trucks” book for the umpteenth time. I waved you off, thinking of my headache, but I could have taken a moment to enjoy the warmth of your little body curled up in my lap. We could have shared a joyful moment, pointing out your favorite aerial ladder truck together.
I also recall feeling frustrated when you refused to eat the fish bites I prepared and instead chose to run around the kitchen with your arms spread like an airplane. I muttered something unkind under my breath, not realizing that I could have transformed that moment into a fun lesson about how airplanes need fuel, handing you a snack and joining you in your imaginative play.
Then there was the time I lost my temper when you tugged on my hair one too many times. Instead of handling it gently, I dragged you to your room, inadvertently tossing you down a little too hard. Your tear-filled eyes haunt me. I should have held you close and said, “I’m sorry. Grownups mess up sometimes, too.” Instead, I shut the door on you.
I think about how you and your brother fought over who could sit in my lap, and out of irritation, I pushed you both away, saying, “Forget it. No one gets to sit with Mama now.” You both just wanted to be close to me. I could have suggested we share my lap, wrapped us in a blanket, and turned it into a cozy snuggle party.
These thoughts weigh heavily on me as I consider how there will come a time when you won’t both fit in my lap, and eventually, when neither of you will want to. I think about how much I’ll miss having you close, especially as you grow more independent and drift further away from me.
As I reflect on how quickly you are growing up, I realize how much I’ve let trivial things upset me. I love you so profoundly that it feels as though my heart might burst from the intensity of it all.
The ache I feel as you sleep in your own bed tugs at my heart, reminding me that it’s often in your absence that I truly grasp how much I want to hold you tight while I still can.
On sleepless nights like these, I yearn to sneak into your room, lift you from your bed, and hold you against my heart like a protective bandage. I want to whisper an apology in your ear as you rest your head against my shoulder, feeling the rhythm of your breath align with my heartbeat, a reminder that our lives were once one.
I imagine how comforting it would be to feel your small arms wrap around me, your body fitting perfectly against mine like a puzzle piece. But I resist the temptation to wake you, not wanting to disrupt the peace of your sleep as it has disturbed mine.
Instead, I let my head and heart rest on my pillow, focusing on the future and promising myself to embrace better thoughts that will help lull me to sleep tomorrow.
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Summary:
In the quiet of night, a mother reflects on her parenting choices, grappling with moments of frustration and love. She acknowledges the fleeting nature of childhood and vows to cherish her time with her children as they grow. The piece emphasizes the importance of connection and the desire to rectify past mistakes, ultimately leading to a promise of better thoughts for the future.