One wakes up. Then another wakes up. Even the baby inside my womb begins to move. By this point, it’s hard to go back to sleep.
They need comfort. Assurance. To know we are here.
Yet at some point, we all have to rely on what we know, what’s already in us to help us rest.
I find myself frustrated because I can’t go back to sleep. My belly is growing, my hips are aching and the sweet spot of REM has passed.
So I get up and I hear him whisper to me, “Patience… patience… patience.”
A gentle reminder and a quick prayer to be patient. Loving. Kind.
It’s in these wee hours that I am reminded of what parenting really is. Long suffering. Patience.
We learn it as we teach it.
We grow as they grow.
In these moments we are faced with the choice to practice self-control or have another reason for the dreaded “Mommy guilt.” It’s a time to practice what we preach about family. We are collective not just individual. Our choices effect the whole. Not just us.
Yet I struggle, I pray, I cry, I check Facebook and I write. Not necessarily in that order.
Then I notice quiet and the stillness of the night brings me comfort. The sounds of the house that are drowned out by the volume of the day become a sweet lullaby.
I too am reminded, I am not alone.