It’s 8pm the night before the clocks spring forward and I’m in bed, especially desperate to fall asleep knowing that I’ll lose an hour of sleep tonight even if the baby has a good night.
It’s been a full day that started during my “quiet” early morning hours when our youngest daughter started throwing up and then continued with our second daughter’s birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese and a shopping trip at Aldi. On a Saturday.
It’s an understatement to say that I’m looking forward to these few minutes of quiet reading before I fall asleep. As an introvert, time by myself—time for thinking, time without any noise or interaction—is crucial for my ability to pour into these little people, for my ability to function at all, really.
Suddenly I hear a sound that’s become all too familiar…the pitter patter of tiny toddler feet making their way to our room.
The tiny toddler climbs onto the bed in the dark and yanks at the blanket to indicate he wants to snuggle.
As I pull him to me, I notice that his tiny toddler fist has a death grip on his trusty broom. The next thing I know, he’s spinning and twisting the broom above our heads, putting on a performance just for me.
It would be so easy to be frustrated, to call out for Sean to come get him. But even at 16 months, these moments are increasingly rare, so I savor this one instead. I inhale the scent of his lemonade shampoo and watch his tiny mouth form the sounds that accompany his show while his shadowy eyelashes flutter in the dark.
I savor the feel of his tiny body tucked up against me and the knowing that—at least for a moment—he’s chosen me over daddy.
There will be time to read. Maybe not as much time as I’d hoped, maybe none tonight.
But sometimes savoring the people we love is the best kind of self care, reminding us of the incredible privilege of calling them ours while filling our souls with joy.