Its quiet. Steady. Rising and falling, the inhale and exhale of warm breath gently kisses my cheek, swathing it in a coziness we’ve rarely experienced.
You turn over on your side, one hand stroking your blanket, the other curled around my arm as my hand reaches across to stroke your hair-wild, wispy curls that corkscrew around my fingers, hugging them tight.
Our eyes meet-your gaze, swimming with sleep, holds mine and in your eyes I see the tides of comfort coming in, washing over you, sweeping you away in its swaying current.
Your grip on my arm tightens, your breathing becomes deeper, you slide into a slumber I can only hope is absent of the searing pain we both can’t wait to be over: TEETHING.
And its in this moment, as we lay here enveloped in blankets and slow, steady, breathing, that I can whisper to myself: “I am a good mother. I can do this. I have what it takes to take care of my children. I AM A GOOD MOTHER.”
In mid snore your hand squeezes my arm in response as if to say, “Yes mommie, you do. You can. You are.”
Drifting off to sleep, I tuck this peaceful memory away, in a safe place, where the lie that I’m anything but has no voice…a place of truth I can go to during those frantic moments when I need hope and a reminder the most.
Its just a moment, a small fraction of time, but one whose weight is heavy in joy.