Last night, at about 2 AM, I was awakened by something. I sat up and listened, confused. 95% of the time, Matthew is the child who needs me at night. I wake up to crying, coughing, night terrors, or even just him having a party in his room in the middle of the night. But this wasn’t any of that. And then I heard it again.
It was Isaac. I ran into his room, worried that he was sick, bracing myself for vomit.
“I had a bad dream. There was a lion. He ated me.”
“I’m sorry, buddy”, I said as I stroked his hair, the realization that I really needed to pee beginning to set in. “It was just a dream”. Oh yeah, I really needed to pee.
“He was in our house,” he pleaded, needing me to understand just how traumatic the dream was.
“Oh no, that WAS very scary,” I said, and I started to feel a large amount of snot make its way down my nasal passage. (did I mention I have a nasty, nasty cold?) “You’re okay, I promise,” I said and began to make my way out of his room.
“Can you lay down with me?”
He almost never asks me that.
And I know that as the days and weeks and years go by, these requests will be even more rare.
He asks so little of me.
So I ignore my bladder and hope that if I get horizontal, it will halt the descending snot globule. (Shockingly, it does.)
I lie there with him quietly for a few minutes and then kiss him.
“I’m going to go back to my bed now, goose. I love you.” I halfway expect a protest but there is none. I climb out of bed and hear again,
Somehow in the dark, our eyes are able to meet and he said–
“you’re a really good mom”.
Oh Goosie, you just make it so easy. I love you.