What I've learned in the quiet spaces between bedtime stories and 2 a.m. rocking
Caleb has taught me a little something about karma.
When I was a child, I was always a little prickly. I wasn’t generous with hugs, kisses, or affection — and truth be told, I’m still not. I’m constantly teased for my discomfort with compliments and my general distaste for hugs.
So now I have a child who is pretty much the same.
I can count on one hand the number of kisses he’s given me (three, if you’re wondering), and he usually bends away from hugs, preferring to crawl around on the floor instead. While he’ll freely and lovingly kiss the dog and most of his stuffed animals, when it comes to people… not so much. If I pucker up and ask for a kiss, he usually laughs and pushes me away with a tiny hand. If he’s in a bad mood, he’ll squeal instead — and smack me lightly on the mouth.
Because of Caleb’s stubborn and independent nature, it’s become a rare treat to receive his affection. Usually, he only allows cuddling when he’s either tired or sick — and that’s about it. He’s become so easy at bedtime now that even those snuggles are gone. No more milk, no more curling up together. Just a kiss on the head, a soft “good night,” and I place him gently in his crib.
So when he does let me hold him, I savor it.
Any time, day or night — I savor it.
Because these moments are fleeting.
At 2 a.m. on a Wednesday night (or Thursday morning, depending how you look at it), I woke to a screaming baby who stayed up for the next four hours. I stumbled into his room, half-asleep, nearly falling over nothing but exhaustion. No longer used to sleepless nights — with my alarm for work just a few hours away — I would normally feel frantic, desperate to get him back down. I’d watch the clock. I’d count the minutes.
But this time… I didn’t.
I didn’t get angry. I didn’t get overwhelmed. I just rocked my baby.
In the dim quiet, I whispered to him in hushed tones that it would all be okay. Because in that moment, he didn’t want anything but me. He didn’t need anything but me. And I knew — my baby won’t always need me like this. Not forever. So while he does, I’ll let him. I’ll need him right back.
I’ll be thankful for the moments when nothing else can soothe his tears but me.
I’ll treasure the middle-of-the-night rocking chair and whispered lullabies.
I’ll kiss his sweaty forehead, hold him close, and not let go until he makes me.
"The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.”
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