Of sleep and silence

Sometimes I think my days go rushing by and I don't take the proper time to sit back and reflect on motherhood. Usually the weekends are the only times I seem to catch little nuggets of tenderness because during the week, by the time I get home from work, eat dinner, clean up, get them bathed and dressed for bed, I'm done. I'm done with the world and the day. I just need that little bit of alone time. It's like medicine. It's all full of guilt and regret and selfishness, but I just don't think I could live without it. I've always said I would run a marathon with my kids during the day if only to ensure an hour to myself at night.

Which is why late at night, after the kids have finally fallen asleep, and I've had that much needed downtime, and I'm ready for bed myself, I go upstairs and stare at my sleeping kids to get one more glimpse of them. Under the soft glow of the nightlight, these are the types of moments I remember the most. It's like all is right with the world if you just get that chance to take a breath, ya know? The moment of silence is sometimes all you need. For all parents, the moment of silence comes with sleep.

Speaking of sleep, someone was talking about co-sleeping the other day and I have to share the most frightening experience I ever had with either of my kids. Both of my kids have slept with me as infants and toddlers and beyond, so it was no big deal when one night several weeks ago Andrew was fussing and I brought him in with me so we could both fall back asleep. It was during the time Dave was very, very ill and my stress level was high. I awoke sometime in the middle of the night and found Andrew wedged between my underarm and the pillow. And I could swear I did not hear him breathing. In the middle of my stupor, I lifted him up so I could see his face in the moonlight shining through the window and began to shake him, "Andrew, Andrew. Andrew! Andrew!" And he did not wake up. He hardly stirred. He was limp and silent. I continued to shake him and call his name until finally he let out a deep sigh. My arms immediately weakened from the relief that I nearly dropped him. I carried him back into his crib. I laid in my bed staring at the ceiling for at least an hour.

The sleeping hours. They bring with them peacefulness and sometimes grief. Like vomiting, sleep walking, exaggerated moments, dreams, and restless legs kicking you in the shins. Any unforgettable middle of the night moments you care to share?

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Regardless of the snow we got this weekend, we made it out for a couple activities on Saturday. There's a really cute picture of Andrew with Santa.