For my eldest child, sleep has always been a challenge. In those early years, I found some joy in our nightly struggles. Her desperate need for me eased my guilt about spending long hours at a job I disliked. The gentle kisses on her forehead and our intertwined fingers soothed my feelings of inadequacy. Now that she’s nine, her sleep evades her just as much as ever.
“Mom, I’m just not tired,” she pouts, “Can I read for a bit?”
“Of course, but not for too long, alright?” I reply.
“Can you cuddle me first?” my younger daughter, Mia, calls out from the bathroom counter.
Before I can respond, my eldest interrupts, “This isn’t fair, she always gets the first cuddle!” I feel a twinge of irritation.
“It’s okay, Mia. I’ll cuddle you first, I promise I’ll stay a bit longer with you,” I murmur, trying to keep my cool.
“Forget it! Mia can have the first cuddle!” Finley exclaims, hopping off her stool.
“FINLEY, you can’t just do that!” Mia retorts.
“Alright, alright! Let’s all cuddle together in the bottom bunk, okay?” I suggest, hoping to defuse the tension. Their response is a cacophony of giggles and squeals as they dive under the blanket.
I head back to the bathroom to clean up—splatters of toothpaste and puddles surround their superhero toothbrushes. On my way to their room, I peek into Lily’s room, “Are you alright?” She doesn’t look up, engrossed in her diary. A tuft of hair falls over her glasses, and a small scab on her cheek reveals a recent tumble for a coveted toy.
“I’m fine,” she replies.
“Need anything?” I ask, and she shakes her head. “I’ll come kiss you after I’m done with your sisters,” I assure her. She nods.
Taking a deep breath, I settle between Mia and Finley. They squirm and shuffle, bumping elbows and knees into me.
“Sorry, Mom!” they whisper in unison.
“It’s fine,” I say, wrapping my arms around them. They cling to me tightly, and I feel my patience start to wane as one of them tugs my hair. “Girls,” I warn softly, as that familiar mix of exhaustion and love washes over me. Finley snuggles closer, and Mia’s hand wraps around both of us.
“Hey, that’s my spot!” Mia hisses.
“She’s not just your mom, Mia,” Finley counters.
“Okay, let’s share some love—hugs and kisses first before it’s night-night time,” I suggest. They relent, and I embrace Mia, whispering sweet nothings into her neck. With a gentle roll, we tumble out of bed, and I lift her into the top bunk. We rub noses, then it’s Finley’s turn. She beams at me, arms outstretched.
“My mama, come here!” she coos. We get nose-to-nose, then shift to cheek-to-cheek. After a series of playful kisses, I feel her teeth bang against my lip and I wince. “Goodnight, girls!” I call out as I leave, their chorus of “love yous” trailing behind me. Finally, I can breathe.
Briar’s room is dark, and her glasses lay face down on the nightstand. I tiptoe in, brush some hair from her face, and kiss her gently. Just as I’m about to slip away, her arms wrap around my neck.
“Mom, please don’t go.”
A lump forms in my throat. I was so close to my quiet time. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“I just can’t sleep,” she admits. My mind drifts to the candle flickering downstairs, and my desire for a peaceful evening flares. But then I see the earnest look in her eyes—the same pull I felt when she was a baby. “Scoot over,” I whisper, crawling beside her.
“Do you want me to rub your back?” she asks.
I chuckle softly. “No, sweetheart. You know what I really want?” She shakes her head. “I just want to fall asleep with you for a little bit.”
The moonlight spills into the room, casting a serene glow. As her breathing steadies and she drifts off, a tear slips down my cheek. I don’t know how long this moment will last, but tonight, I am grateful—I didn’t rush away. I smile at my firstborn and let the tears come, washing away the day’s worries and reminding me of the love that fills our bedtime ritual.