A Mother's Midnight Musings

It is late. The house is strangely quiet. All of my men – big and small – are asleep.

I look in on my husband. His feet hang over the foot of the bed. He is wonderfully tall – six foot six – and he never fits in any bed. I don’t think he likes his height, but I love it. It’s one of the things that attracted me to him. It still does.

Next, I sneak in to steal a peek at my three-year-old. He is covered up, which means that Daddy has already checked on him, since he always kicks off his covers as he sleeps. He wears his Superman pajamas (again), complete with cape. His stuffed Ewok – one that I actually owned as a child – rests beside him. I look at him and can’t help but think that he is beautiful.

Finally, I crack the door and go stealthily into the baby’s room. He is a light sleeper, and I don’t want to wake him, but I can’t resist seeing him before I go to sleep. He rests on his side, and I can barely make out his sweet features. The weather has turned chilly, and I’ve dressed him in a sleep sack. I hope he stays warm in the night.

It’s late, and I’m tired. But I admit that I enjoy this solitude, this peaceful moment after a long, chaotic day. However, I can’t resist sleep any longer, so I crawl into bed. I offer up a quick prayer of thanks. Then I lie down, tired but happy. My body, weary; my heart, full.

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