posted on Mar, 1 2017 @ 11:51 PM
My daughter came into my room to ask me to cuddle with her tonight.
Ugh."Cara, c'mon. You're supposed to be asleep already."
She's already come in twice since I'd tucked her in. Once for water and once asking a silly question I've already forgotten. I was tired, warm in
my bed and watching random crap on TV.
She looks at her hands and says in a very low, sleepy voice, "I....I just want someone to cuddle with me."
Seriously, why am I saying no to this?
"OK baby, give me a few minutes and I'll be up there."
She quietly leaves the room. I wait untill commercial and walk upstairs to where she's turned the TV on. My one year old now sat awake in her bed,
gibbering away to no one in particular. Biting my tongue, I turn the TV off and climb into her bed. We wrap our arms around eachother, figit around
for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable, until she turns around and grips my arm tightly around her chest.
"I love you, baby."
"I love you too," she replies in her cute little pouty voice.
I smile in the dark and silently wait for her breathing to become heavy.
Man. When was the last time I did this? It's been awhile.
The babies bed squeeks and I turn to look at her, Cara gripping my hand as I do so I don't get too far. In the dark, I can barely make her out but
she was propped up sitting with her back to me. I smile and watch her head look around and then she lays back down.
Silence for a minute and then I hear the little one saying, "Mama? Mama? Night night? Night night. Night night. Night night."
Suddenly I'm overwhelmed with all kinds of emotion. Sadness, mostly, because of how big the five year old in my arms was. I remember how I used to
lay with her every night just to make sure she fell asleep. How selfish of me to think that I'd ever be too exhausted to come cuddle with my baby? I
used to sing her to sleep most nights, something I find myself rarely doing with my youngest now.
I want to cry now. Being a mother is HARD . It really is. It's stressful. Frustrating, on so many levels. But who am I to forget about what
makes me a mother? These two beautiful girls snoring in the dark are my everything. My life.
These two girls ARE my afterlife. They are two halves of ME. Who I am now will live on through them. Looking at them, I know the "afterlife" is a
I see it in their hair when the sun glints off the tiny strands. On their face when they've been running around and their little cheeks glow red.
I hear it in their melodic voices when they talk, sing, even cry.
More than anything, I feel how beautiful it will be when I hold them in my arms or when their silliness makes me laugh.
I don't know how we have become so selfish. As adults, we seem to forget about what surrounds us. What makes this life so precious.
I'm not afraid of the darkness that lies waiting behind my final breath. I'm not sitting here wondering where I'll go or if I deserve to go
anywhere at all.
I have already experienced it here, where I am, listening to the soft snores of my children and I know I'm already where I'll always be.