This week’s Small Moments Mondays post comes from Miranda, who blogs over at Not Super…Just Mom.
And before I go any further, I have a confession to make.
I have a huge bloggy crush on Miranda.
Aside from the fact that she’s stunningly beautiful, there’s an ease about her writing…a warmth that makes you feel immediately at ease.
And she’s stunning. Did I mention that already?
The most remarkable thing about Miranda’s writing is just how honest it is. It is that honesty that keeps me going back for more.
For a taste of the ease, honesty, and warmth I’m talking about, please read So Happy Together, He Needed Me. And I Found a Way to Get There, and Second Shift.
Thank you, Miranda…for your words here and for not getting a restraining order against me for being such a
Because of His Peace–by Miranda
Sleep deprivation is a special kind of torture reserved for the vilest of prisoners.
My son? Not a great sleeper. Not even a little bit kind of like a great sleeper.
Joshua wakes up once or twice a night almost every night. We get the occasional sleep-through-the-night here and there but never consistently. We’ve tried everything we can think of to get him to sleep and he just doesn’t do it.
(He comes by a double-dose of stubborn honestly if I’m being, well, honest.)
Most of the time, he just needs to be held for a minute. Reminded that I’m there and that I’m still carrying his heart in my heart.
So, I go to him and I hold him and I set my breathing to match his. When I think his mama-love tank is sufficiently refilled, I put him back in his bed, tiptoe to my own, and finish out the night.
Most of the time, I manage through the days with a few cups of coffee.
But sometimes we have a really bad night like last night where no amount of coffee in the world will help.
After nearly two hours’ worth of attempts to get him back to sleep in his own bed, my husband brought him to our room and Joshua immediately curled into my pillow and fell asleep. So I did, too.
But I had angry sleep. The kind of sleep that isn’t refreshing. The kind of sleep where you wake up full of piss and vinegar and just plain mad.
Joshua, like always, was full of sunshine.
He woke up in our bed, looked around, saw me and said “Oh, hi, Mama! I get down! I go play trains!” and off he went, ready to tackle the world with his innocence.
I was mad all day because of how tired I was. I was frustrated with him. With myself. With the dog. With the fact that my husband was at work instead of home being miserable with me. My thoughts were clouded with exhaustion.
And then I realized that he had climbed on the couch and was sitting almost underneath me, resting his head on my arm.
And I felt my heart warm some at his touch.
When I tried to put him down for his nap he fought me by flailing backwards in my arms so his body was swinging wildly from my hip. I was angry that he was being so unruly. He was laughing.
I felt myself smile at his laughter in spite of my anger.
When I tried to put him down for his nap (for the third time, and a nap which he did not actually take), he drank his milk and then flipped over so we were chest to chest. He tucked his face into my neck and rested there for a minute, breathing on my throat. Then he leaned his head back a little, smiled at me, and settled back into me.
I felt myself soften a bit because of his peace.
Joshua is the small moment in my life. He is my life. And I’m thankful for his presence in it.
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