When I'm Away
This is the hard part. Climbing into bed after an exhausting day away on a business trip, away from my girls, missing the sound of their breathing, their tiny teeth grinding. I miss the warmth of their skin, their little hands, their hair as it falls across their face. I smile while tucking it behind their ears knowing it bothers me more than it bothers them. Their room is like a magnet pulling me in two, three, sometimes four times a night.
My body rewired itself during pregnancy. It now goes from dead sleep to full throttle if my kids so much as whimper. I spring out of bed knowing I'll never fall back asleep unless I'm sure they're covered and their favorite stuffed animal is positioned just right. I love the floppy, twisted softness of my children at rest. I'm convinced when my youngest lays on her stomach with her knees by her shoulders in a frog position, it's how she lay in my womb. I recognized it the moment I saw the swoosh of her elbow and stretch of her heel. "That's It!" I exclaimed, the mystery of the move nine-months-in-utero suddenly revealing itself.
Later, I'll hear their whispered feet on my carpet as they reach me and I'm already up, alert, awake again. "Do you need to go to the bathroom? Are you thirsty? Did you have a bad dream? Is something frightening you?" As one child crawls in, I get up and check on the other.
The night hours and I are good friends. "Why, Hello 1:25a." "Nice to see you 2:35a." "You again 3:16a?" The red LCD stares at me from a faux-wood clock I've had since college. I slide back into bed, my sleepy brain calculating the math: Five more hours of sleep. Four more hours. Three is good. I'll take three. 15 minutes. I'm sure I can reach REM sleep,no problem.
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