Rearing Years
Sometimes I lie down with the girls for naptime. Many times – in fact, most – I don’t actually fall asleep. Since they are roomies, even at naptime, I’m just there as the policeman, making sure they don’t keep each other awake or, worse, wake each other up. Today was one of these days. Although they both fell asleep rather quickly, no matter how I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, I couldn’t. Truth is, my mind (and my ear) is always on the baby monitor, knowing he’s due to awaken any second for his afternoon feeding. This is the main reason why I fight sleep at naptime.
So today I enjoyed the rare state of lying still for a couple hours, doing absolutely nothing but staring at the beautifully peaceful visages of my sleeping beauties. A mass of dark tresses is splashed against the sheets. One brazen curl rolls down Essie’s cheek and onto her eyelash. It bounces there, threatening to awaken her. Her pouty lips are crumpled up into a small rosebud. Her chest rises and falls softly with restful repose. Abby’s skin is as pure and creamy as silk. Her eyelids flutter, and a tiny rumble of a snore escapes her lips. One hand slips out from beneath the sheets and falls off the side of the bed. Our world is strangely quiet for a few moments. I am watching two angels slumber upon billowy clouds.
There’s nothing quite like watching your children sleep. In fact, I find it therapeutic. It reminds me of where they came from, those sweet, smiley, cherubic days of infancy, and of where they will someday be, grown-up, on their own, leading there own frantic-paced lives, and yet I will always be striving to pull them close to my heart. Not that I'm not now. But these foundational years are the bricklaying years. This is where the foundation of the house is rather ruddy and unkempt. It’s not the site I want to bring onlookers to see, mostly because I'm a mess with frustration. It is the time for laying the pavement, the slab, and I'm the slab layer. It’s difficult, sweaty, backbreaking work, but it’s critical for the building of a strong house, and these are the years I’m in now. The rearing years. In many ways, it’s not only their rearing years. I think this is where patience will be infused into my soul, by sheer force. He’s shoving it down the hatch. But I so need it shoved.
So today I enjoyed the rare state of lying still for a couple hours, doing absolutely nothing but staring at the beautifully peaceful visages of my sleeping beauties. A mass of dark tresses is splashed against the sheets. One brazen curl rolls down Essie’s cheek and onto her eyelash. It bounces there, threatening to awaken her. Her pouty lips are crumpled up into a small rosebud. Her chest rises and falls softly with restful repose. Abby’s skin is as pure and creamy as silk. Her eyelids flutter, and a tiny rumble of a snore escapes her lips. One hand slips out from beneath the sheets and falls off the side of the bed. Our world is strangely quiet for a few moments. I am watching two angels slumber upon billowy clouds.
There’s nothing quite like watching your children sleep. In fact, I find it therapeutic. It reminds me of where they came from, those sweet, smiley, cherubic days of infancy, and of where they will someday be, grown-up, on their own, leading there own frantic-paced lives, and yet I will always be striving to pull them close to my heart. Not that I'm not now. But these foundational years are the bricklaying years. This is where the foundation of the house is rather ruddy and unkempt. It’s not the site I want to bring onlookers to see, mostly because I'm a mess with frustration. It is the time for laying the pavement, the slab, and I'm the slab layer. It’s difficult, sweaty, backbreaking work, but it’s critical for the building of a strong house, and these are the years I’m in now. The rearing years. In many ways, it’s not only their rearing years. I think this is where patience will be infused into my soul, by sheer force. He’s shoving it down the hatch. But I so need it shoved.
Comments
it's hard to remember that when they are screaming about not wanting to eat their veges, huh? at least for me. i have to sneak in late at night to kiss chubby (non-tantruming) cheeks.
well written, sara. =)