“Do you want me to sing you a song?”
I laughed softly at Daddy Longlegs’ tenderness in the ongoing struggle to get Little Legs to sleep.
Every night, the boy tries new tricks to stay up.
“Two more stories?” he requests after the 17th book lands on a pile next to him.
“Wa-wa?” he smacks his lips with thirst while holding a cup of water.
“Poo-poo diap-ee,” he announces, certain that someone will assist, with a suspicious glee.
We should feel flattered our company is so desirable that this young person wants to spend even five more minutes together. Instead, we are exhausted, exasperated and did I mention, tired?
I remind myself that this is yet another phase, one that we will look back on with an aching sense of loss. Someday in the future, he will be knobbly-kneed boy, and then a teenager who has no time and no interest in snuggling up next to us.
So tonight when he fakes a cough and yells out, “Cough med-cine” or “Need Mama”, I will breathe in energy and breathe out grace and compassion for the toddler down the hall who keeps us in a constant state of motion.