Light slants in through the cracked door, lullabies hum from the stereo, but someone can't sleep.
“Mama go nigh-night, too?” the tired lad pleads.
I drag George-the-giant-stuffed-monkey over as a makeshift pillow, curl up and slip my hand through the crib rails.
“Okay, baby, Mama go nigh-night, too.”
I close my eyes, hoping my ruse will tempt him to sleep too, but I feel his tiny warm fingers start to trace my fingernails and pat my hand.
Oh sweet boy, why do you fight sleep so? When I’m just hoping my pretend-sleeping doesn’t become real-sleeping on this hard floor. Waking at 2 a.m. on his zebra print rug would not make a happy teacher tomorrow.
His hands still, so I dare a peek.
My just-like-my-Grandmama’s green eyes meet the wide open just-like-his-Grandaddy’s blue ones. Nope, not yet.
And so mine flutter closed again and I breathe deep his little boy smell and try to will his eyes closed with my mind.
I must be magic because his breathing slows and evens and I crack a lid and oh-holy-night-he-is-sleeping!
But suddenly my to-do list fades away as I sit in the semi-dark watching this miracle that God created, but I carried, be carried away by dreams of Thomas the Train.
I count the bare piggies peeking out from his precious blankie, just like the night he was born. Only now those legs seem so long.
With a deep sigh, eventually I creep from his room, closing the door gently, silently.
Sometimes motherhood is hard. But not tonight.