Friday, January 10, 2014
When we returned from our family holiday to the USA, our daughter insisted on sleeping with her bedroom door open and the hallway light on. Both of these things were new... and coincided with complaints that the room looked "faraway" or everything looked "small"... accompanied by the certainty there were monsters crammed in the space between her wardrobe and the fireplace.
One of the greatest gifts of this new arrangement -- particularly once the other concerns and fears were allayed -- meant that I could catch a glimpse of my sleeping angel on my way to bed.
To be honest, I don't have many memories of watching her sleep as a newborn although I know I must have. I do remember finding her sleeping form absolutely fascinating. It was just so long ago, the specifics elude me (though I suspect certain things will come flooding back once our new baby arrives).
And maybe these are just not the types of memory I am built to hold. Smell, on the other hand...
One day, in the midst of a massive declutter, I found a cache of my daughter's bibs. They still held her sweet milky smell and in a moment I was undone. I howled for hours on the couch, partly grieving the preciousness of a time that will never return and partly for the fear that I might never have the chance to do it again.
But now as I make my way up the hall to bed, I can never resist peaking in to my little 'un's room. As she grows older, I may never recall the exact image of her sleeping when she was four. But I'll never forget just how much that sight touched me to my core. And how all I could think, as I ambled away was, "I love you so much, my sweet little angel" and shake my head in wonder.
I am responding here to the fifth prompt from #reverb13. You are warmly invited to share your own response below, if you did not have the opportunity to do so in December. Thank you for sharing the journey with me. x