Dear Chickadee,
I lift you up onto my chest after your last bedtime snack. Your tiny head nestles perfectly on my shoulder and your mouth opens as you pass out, gently breathing sweet milk breath onto my face. I gently rock us in the rocking chair. You are totally asleep.
I watch the clock, as I pick a time 15 minutes from now when I will lay you down in your little bed as you drift off to dreamland. I have to make sure you're really asleep - at least, that's what I tell myself. I really just soak up the minutes getting to hold you - an entire other human - when you are so small.
I think about the fact that you are not just a baby girl - that you are just the baby version of a little girl, and later, a bigger girl. I don't let myself think of you growing past that stage, because the time is already flying by. You will bring me weed flowers and I will put them in water in a vase for the rest of their interrupted brief life. You will run in with a skinned knee or elbow from a bicycle tumble. Mommy kisses will make it all better. And maybe some ice cream.
The minutes are going by so fast on the clock so I add 10 more to my deadline. I try to not stay up too late once you are asleep so I can take advantage of sleeping when you do. Soon you will be too big for the little bed at the foot of my bed and we will move you to your own room. While I will probably sleep better not listening to your little nighttime movements and noises, I will miss you. I will still run to you when you cry out, though.
And I will hold you and rock you whenever you need it.
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