Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Good Night, Moon

As the night falls into my house through the windows and skylights, the darkness flows in resembling gooey sticky mass that engulfs everything and everyone, slows us down until we surrender. As the moon rolls in and sets up camp behind our window, a wail thunders through the house, and I know that it's time. Time for a bath, a pajama wrestle followed by a cuddle and a tummy full of mama's milk.

(note my two men sleeping in the exact same pose)

For a while, I listen to his tiny breaths grow steady and deep, I watch his face become lost in the farthest reaches of his dreams, then, I quietly sneak out from under the covers trying my best not to disturb the harmony that is night.
I have always been a night person, and even more so ever since I have embarked on this breath-taking journey of raising a child. Of course, there are nights when I cuddle my toddler, and next thing I know, the alarm is going berserk on the night stand. Most nights, however, I cherish the moments spent alone, just me and the night.

Some nights, I clean up, herd stray socks and clothing items, pull out such highly hazardous, and therefore hidden from the light of day items like iron, scissors, or nail clippers. Other nights, I simply enjoy the poise and tenderness of this hour when the day is stripped of everything that is excessive and superficial, and only true and necessary remains.
There are of course still naps that occur usually once a day and let me conquer some of child-rearing unrelated tasks. Naps, however, tend to end unexpectedly and in the middle of my burning something on the stove, shampooing my hair, or worse yet, right as I dive into the pillows on the couch with a sandwich and a book, hoping for a few minutes away from this world.
Nights, on the other hand, stretch into eternity. At night, the entire world is yours because everyone else is sleeping.

I will probably wish for just five more minutes when the sun starts trickling into the bedroom, and I hear his ever-demanding MAMA. I know I will wish children had a snooze button, I will open my eyes reluctantly and see Joseph sitting up, ready to meet day's adventures head-on.
Sometimes I think that nights like that are more rejuvenating than full 8 hours of shut-eye time. As I am writing this, the night has covered the world around me with a thick blanket of dreams. Even moon turned in for the night, and I just might grab a corner of this starry quilt and tuck myself in. Good night, moon. Sleep tight.

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