Motherhood moments to cherish

I'm tempted to write yet again about my children's odd wardrobe choices. For instance, suddenly Sydney insists on wearing nightgowns to bed. Because how could she possibly be expected to go to sleep until she's done a few dance spins? Even a too-small nightgown (as long as it has ruffles at the bottom) over regular pajama pants is sufficient for her needs.

"Mommy, I have to spin," is how she explains it.

But enough about their quirks.

As I snuggled with Sydney at bedtime earlier this week, I couldn't stop the tears. (Mine, not hers.) She is such a fascinating contradiction of personality traits. Even as she tries with increasing frequency to exert her independence, she resists change and insists on the comfort of repetition. So it came as little surprise as I laid next to her in bed, to hear her quietly ask, "Mommy, can I lay on your tummy?"

I'm pretty sure I will never deny that request from her.

I helped her shift over until she was snuggled on my chest, her arms wrapped around my sides, my arms wrapped around her back.

"I love you," her voice sounded in the darkness.

"I love you, too" I whispered back, kissing her hair.

She's getting so big she no longer fits on top of me like she used to. But she's not ready to give up this bedtime tradition, and I'm going to continue it as long as she lets me. She repeatedly shifts her head back and forth, switching the direction she's facing as she tries to get comfortable. Each time, I use my hand to brush aside her mop of hair to keep it from getting in the eyes that should be closed.

But stubborn little girl that she is, she fights sleep with every ounce of her being. Even as I can feel her body relaxing, she resists, jerking every so often as if making one last attempt to stay awake. Finally she sleeps. Often it's not her breathing that gives it away, but rather she rolls off my body and then snuggles into my side. I could probably get up at this moment and leave her to sleep. But instead I stay a few minutes more, savoring the sweetness of it all. In a few years, this won't be an option. In a few hours, she'll grumpily tell me she's too tired to get up.

And so I stay next to her, marveling at this little miracle. I thank God that she's healthy. I thank God that he has entrusted her to me. That is why I can't stop the tears. They are happy tears. I am blessed beyond anyting I could ever have imagined.