Open arms

It’s predictable at this point. The sky is dark, my brain is at rest or possibly unleashing vivid scenarios that I will not remember when I wake, the numbers on my smartphone are a mystery but alas – there is a loud thump. A familiar “Mommy, help!” My eyes open to darkness and a small figure across the room, carrying his stuffy and a pillow about his size. “Pillow!” He yells as he climbs into my bed. I gather his pillow, tuck him in and kiss his perfect little face a handful of times.

Do I mind this nightly interruption? Maybe. Sometimes falling back asleep can be challenging and interrupted sleep does not feel quite as restful as a fluid state of restfulness. Despite this, I also love it.

I love him and the comfort of his petite body coming in to cuddle with me. He seeks me in the middle of the night and wants to be close. Is it selfish? I don’t know. I’ve read countless opinions on co-sleeping and sleep training. I understand that it’s important for your children to learn to sleep on their own. But yet – that takes effort, dedication and a certain sense of coldness.

I don’t have it right now. I acknowledge that he is my last baby. I will not get this desire for closeness in this same capacity again. Perhaps with grandchildren? That is wishful thinking and decades away (I imagine). Right now – at this moment, I get to savor it. I’m ok with that.

I enjoy the closeness and dependency on Mommy. I too seek this embrace in some way. I know he will not be this little forever and already appreciate the occasional need for space from his two older siblings. My number one role in this world is Mommy. I am OK with that. I have other roles and obligations, but this is the one. There is nothing more important or more satisfying to me than my connection and bound with my little babies.

I’m sure I echo the sentiment of Mother’s everywhere, but as my children grow and mature, develop opinions and strong feelings, declare independence, surprise me, encourage me and challenge me – I find myself holding on to as much closeness as I can get.

I know they are not “mine,” in the sense that I cannot control them. I cannot keep them forever. They are my children – to nurture, to love, to empower – in the best way possible. They will go own to live their own lives one day and explore the world at their own pace.

I watched a recent interview with Michelle Obama, where she described how her parents designated home as “the place where I am loved.” They bluntly told her the world would not alway love her. It would be hard and challenging and tear her down. She should not go out in the world seeking unconditional love for herself. She would have that foundation from home – a sense of security and predictability.

I was raised this way. As I grew up, I was constantly told that my childhood home was always my home. My room would always be my room and there for me when I needed it. My parents were there for me and my brother no matter what – and they stood by that. Whether my Dad was picking me up from medical school parties at 2AM because he wanted to ensure I had safe transportation, or dropping everything to drive to Penn State because I lost my keys – he was there. He was home, safety, love.

As my husband and I explore parenting techniques and ideas for sleep training, discipline and respect, I find myself returning to safety. There are so many methods, approaches and ideas regarding discipline. They also seem to change from time to time. I imagine that a lot of disciplinary style tend to reflect your own upbringing, either intentionally or not.

The world out there is full of complexity. Among beauty, hope, and inspiration there is a terrible mix of war, cruelty, crime. Who’s to know how my babies will navigate the path into this entangled reality? My only hope it that they know I am their place of safety. I am always their person to whom they can crawl back and cuddle.

For now, I am perfectly OK with being that comfort zone when my youngest wakes up in the middle of the night seeking his Mommy. I am beyond grateful for the opportunity to be his, and all my children’s, safety net. I embrace the nightly interruption with open arms.