I hear a cough, a sputter, another cough, then a rustling of blankets and a froggy voice calls.
In the dark I come to you, turn the bathroom light on around the corner from your room, to light my path. Outstretched arms greet me from your seated slumber. Eyes squint from the dim light entering your dark chamber.
I scoop your half awake body up into mine and, as always, we fit. Your arms and legs wrap around me where they always go. My arms slips beneath your padded bum, the other around your ribcage to squeeze you tight. Your head finds my shoulder and burrows in.
Papa peaks in.
“Grab the humidifier” I whisper, and smile that “isn’t she precious?” smile we share, to let him know you’re okay.
While he goes, the armchair calls for a moments’ comfort, you and for me. In one instinctual, but quite clever rotation I have you vertical across my body, yours stays slack as you melt easily into our new position. Eyes open briefly to make sure of mine and then close quickly again.
Your length is twice the width of me now, head resting on one arm of the chair, feet on the other. The faint light makes only your toes glow. At least they are still so little. Our bellies breath together. You grab my ears, I stroke your hair and lean in for a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and about 14 more soft sweet places on your face.
Your hair smells of honey and flowers from your evening bath and your skin smells like you – like your blankets, and clothes, and your room does when I first open the door to greet you after a sleep.
God, if I could capture the scent…please never take her from me.
We sit and rock until your breathing grows loud, long, a snore even, from that lingering congestion that called me to you. I’ll take it. These interruptions of the sleep I claim to be of such value, for health and well being and sanity. Really it is this that gives my life any well being at all.
In comforting I receive.
Peace. Meaning. Purpose. Gratitude. Grace. God. Jesus, and the Holy Spirit, all here with us in the dark of this nights’ interruption that reveals the course of my soul.
Thank you dear Jesus.
I love you dear child.