With several little ones, it seems like if I’m not up nursing the baby, someone else is up with a bad dream, or a diaper, or coming down with a cold, or needing a drink of water. . .
Every night I get up at some point with Carissa to change her diaper. Or if I haven’t gone to bed by 12 or 1, I just change her on the way to bed. (That is another story, but if I don’t change her in the middle of the night, I will have to change her bedding in the morning. When I forget, I pay for it!)
One night last week, it was Mara calling for me.
“Mommy,” she began, verrrry slowly. “I just . . . had a dream. And it was . . . not-so-good.”
“What was it about?”
Tonight I was in the living room around midnight, and Micah staggered down the top three stairs and peered earnestly down at me.
Instantly a smile of relief spread over his face, and he leaned his head back. “Everything’s okay!” he exclaimed.
“Did you think something wasn’t okay?. . .” and when there was no reply, I hugged him and asked, “Was it a bad dream?”
He sighed a smirk, and sheepishly said, “Yeah.”
There will be a time in just a few short years that I won’t be rocking him any more. And there was a time just a few months ago on bedrest when I couldn’t carry him to his bed.
So I carried him back up to his room and rocked him for a few minutes. . . just because I can.
“Are you gonna be okay now, buddy?” I asked.
His eyes were closed again, thumb in his mouth: “Mm-mm.” Everything’s okay.