Because She Won't Sleep

The places where I feel her pain hurt most.  I'm especially sensitive to her now, my first-born, after a summer with Lyme Disease and Bell's Palsy and worry.  Her worry first, mine second.  I linger longer with her now.  The awareness of her health and her wellness suddenly illuminated in my vision. 

We shifted as a family this summer – created more time for togetherness – bore the uncomfortableness it provoked. More fights, more overwhelm, less of the space I've come to know myself to rely upon.

We read Harry Potter every night. It was a family affair.  I'd read from our 4 year old's bed and my husband and 7 year old would listen from her bed.  It was cozy. We were doing something good. But all the while something else happened too. Slowly, as summer progressed, my 7 year old forgot how to fall asleep by herself – without a warm body in her bed. She lost a little bit of that golden independence.

And so I sit here, typing to you, at 10PM, trying my darnedest to get my kids back on some semblance of a bedtime schedule that doesn't involve us in their beds for hour upon hour.

Because, we. Just. Can't.

Every few minutes my daughter wails to me from the other room.  And I remind her: "I am right here.  I am close.  I hear you.  I love you.  I know you can do this."

She's mad too – wants to be on her own, have her own space.  Determined and miserable, both. "I want you and I don't want to want you, Mama."

Sometimes being a parent is just awful. It's magical and powerful and heavy and awesome and terrible all at once. And that's why I do what I do.  That's why Calm-A-Mama exists. 

And so, I ran back in with Midnight Mouse Kids Sleep Drops and she opened up like the tiny bird I remember from infancy. 

I leaned over and I kissed her forehead and I told her, "We've got this.  We both do."


xoxoxo