It was a long week. A frustrating week. The kind of week where I waffled between self-loathing and self-pity. Why me? Why not me?
I was tired.
I was tired of myself.
I went to bed.
It was 3:30 in the morning when you called me to your room.
"Mommy, that stupid cough woke me up and I have to go potty."
"Don't say stupid, honey," I said. "Come on and let's go to the bathroom and take your cough medicine."
We finished in the bathroom and inevitably you asked, "Mommy, will you sleep with me for just a little bit."
I sighed. I really wanted my own bed. My own pillow. But I scooted in beside you, thanking God for the wisdom to buy you a double bed. We settled in and I said, a little gruffly, "Please go back to sleep."
I started to drift off but suddenly I could sense you looking at me. I looked at you beneath my eye lashes and saw you were leaning on your hand watching me.
You started to move closer to me and I was just about to scold you for keeping me awake when you leaned all the way over and gave me the softest kiss on my cheek. "I love you Mommy," you said quietly and then you laid down and closed your eyes.
Then I slept the sleep of the loved and the content.