When I tuck my daughter, Lily, into bed each night, she twirls a strand of her hair and asks, “Can I tell you something?” It’s a classic delay tactic that all kids seem to master. They may not grasp the concept of time, and they think ketchup is a vegetable, but they sure know how to stretch bedtime.
I let out a resigned sigh, nod, and listen as she shares her day’s trivialities. I observe her animated expressions and find myself reminiscing about the times when her face could only express the primal needs of a newborn—those desperate cries and gummy grins that reassured me I wasn’t completely failing at this parenting thing. When she finally takes a breath, I chime in with an “I love you” and a resolute “goodnight,” making my escape down the hallway to enjoy some well-deserved adult time.
On particularly nostalgic nights, I sneak back into her room like a denim-clad ghost under the moonlight, taking a moment to speak softly to her as she sleeps. This is my favorite time; her body is peaceful and still. In these moments, she’s not bouncing off the walls, singing at the top of her lungs, or asking, “Why is that man making that face?”
With her asleep, I lovingly trace the delicate features of her face, gently brushing aside the damp strands of hair that have migrated to her forehead. I caress the bridge of her nose as if it were a genie’s lamp, ready to grant me three wishes.
Her room feels warm and humid, likely due to the nightlight that casts a soft, lemony glow. I can’t help but notice that it’s also a bit of a mess—evidence of the day’s adventures and her apparent tendency to suffer from nighttime nosebleeds, which I dread handling.
It’s in this serene atmosphere that I share my thoughts with her. I tell her about the highlight of my day. Each morning, as we navigate familiar streets, her joyful, if off-key, melodies fill the backseat, reaching ridiculous pitches that fade into the world outside. Those notes escape through the cracked window, becoming part of the city’s soundtrack.
I confess that seeing my reflection in her face always surprises me. It’s like biting the inside of my cheek unexpectedly. Life’s chaos sometimes makes me forget that many years ago, I reached down to touch the crown of her head for the first time—a moment that felt as surreal as swimming with dolphins in Mexico. I remember how the room darkened and every nerve ending ignited as she landed softly on my chest.
I promise her that I will do better tomorrow. I’ll listen more closely, show more patience, and keep my expectations in check. I remind her of my love—a love that is deep and overwhelming, far beyond what words can capture.
Sometimes, as I rise to leave, I notice her move. Her legs kick, her eyelids flutter, and an arm stretches across her stuffed animals, fingers unfurling like petals of a flower. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if she sensed my presence, felt my heartfelt whispers wrap around her like a protective blanket. I close the door quietly behind me, leaving her to dream of the wonderful tales she’ll share come morning.
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In summary, as I reflect on my nightly routine with Lily, it’s a beautiful reminder of the bond we share—a connection that transcends words, filled with love and the promise of tomorrow.
Keyphrase: bedtime reflections with daughter
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