Parenting
The Delight of Carrying My Sleepy Children
by Mia Thompson
Updated: June 30, 2021
Originally Published: March 13, 2016
Image: Yuri_Arcurs / iStock
As I glance to my right, I notice her eyes are gently shut. Leaning closer, I confirm that her typically vibrant face and chatty demeanor have softened into a peaceful slumber. The sleep must have crept in during the film, gradually coaxing her to surrender to the dreams waiting inside her head.
A wave of warmth fills my chest as I contemplate the task ahead. Quietly, I emerge from my snug spot on the couch, carefully push aside the coffee table, and evaluate what I need to do. This time, she has brought her beloved Minions blanket and her large blue bunny along, so I place Bunny in front of her, wrap the blanket around her, and lift all three into my arms.
As my bare feet search for hazards that my children may have left scattered about, I navigate the dimly lit basement from the couch to the stairs. Holding her tightly, I ascend the 17 steps with 50 pounds of sleepy child, cherished toy, and fluffy blanket in my grasp. While the weight doesn’t concern me, I am wary of how her head or dangling legs might collide with a doorframe.
I realize I won’t always have these moments. I won’t always be the one she can comfortably drift off beside, the one who ensures she reaches her destination at night. I won’t always be the preferred movie companion, or the one whose arms provide comfort when she needs it. These tender aspects of motherhood will inevitably fade as she grows older.
As I transition from the soft carpet of the stairs to the cool hardwood of the hallway, I instinctively bend over to shield her face from the harsh overhead lights. The sounds of my partner typing away, accompanied by the chatter of ESPN in the background, reach my ears, prompting me to whisper “shhh” to keep her from stirring awake. Turning the corner, I spot my son seated at the desk behind my partner, absorbed in the screen, perhaps intentionally ignoring me to avoid being nudged towards bedtime.
Observing him, my eldest, I see a boy caught between childhood and growing up—still carrying that endearing smile from before he had any teeth. This smile can spark joy within me, but right now, he is focused on the glowing television, the day’s sports highlights bathing him in light. I shift my attention back to my precious bundle. The sounds and brightness disrupt her moment of stillness, causing me to bounce her gently against my chest, willing her eyes to remain closed. Thankfully, they do. With my elbow, I switch off the upstairs light, and we continue our ascent.
The remaining fifteen steps are trivial. I am confident in my ability to navigate this task without assistance or doubt. Parenthood has prepared me for far more challenging situations, and I know that the truly difficult days lie ahead. I hold her tightly, determined not to let her slip from my grasp.
Entering her room, which remains untidy despite her earlier insistence on cleaning up, I maneuver past ponies, art supplies, and dolls until I reach her unmade bed. Using my knee, I push the blankets aside just enough to lay her down in her favorite spot. A slight adjustment of her legs allows me to wrap her snugly in the sheets. Bunny on her right, Minions blanket on her left, I tuck the bedding gently under her chin. Looking down, I feel a pang of loss, as if I’ve misplaced my favorite blanket; the warmth remains but the comforting weight is absent.
Uncertainty lingers about how many more times I will be able to carry her this way or how long she will remain my little girl. I dread the moment when she will be too big for my embrace, too grown for me to tuck her in, too distant to be the source of her comfort. These fleeting moments are often only recognized in hindsight, and I cherish the weight she entrusts me with for as long as she allows.
I inhale her scent of maple and markers, imprinting it in my memory. Every time she needs me, I will believe in my ability to lift her safely and guide her to where she belongs, letting her go when the time comes.
A soft sigh momentarily breaks the stillness as she shifts to curl up on her side before settling again. I smooth the covers down one last time, kiss her forehead, and retreat from her room, whispering a silent wish for sweet dreams as I say, “I love you.”
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Summary:
The author reflects on the bittersweet experience of carrying her sleepy daughter, recognizing the fleeting nature of these moments in motherhood. As she navigates the dimly lit home, she contemplates the significance of her role and the eventual changes that come with her child growing up. Each tender moment is a reminder of the love and connection shared between parent and child, which she intends to cherish for as long as possible.
Keyphrase: The Delight of Carrying My Sleepy Children
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