SWEET SLUMBER

It was during the middle of the nite. The darkest dark of nite. She was sound asleep, surrounded by oversized pillows, and nestled beneath her new quilted bedspread. I could hear the soft sound of her breathing. The fragrant scent of her shampoo and body wash hung in the air. The only light in the room was cast from a dim night-light. I stood at the foot of the bed just looking at my baby girl. She seemed so small in that queen-sized bed. Memories chased around my mind. I had an almost overwhelming urge to scoop her up into my arms and simply cradle her. Quite a few minutes passed while I resisted the temptation to awaken her to hold her. Then, I left her room.

She is 20 years old. I am her mother. And that scene took place last week.

In many ways it is the same scene that has occurred over and over these past twenty years. I recall the tiny six-pound newborn who looked far too small sleeping in her crib. She was dwarfed by the size of that crib. Countless times I stood watch over her slumber. I listened for the sounds of her breathing and watched for the rhythmic and gentle rise and fall of her chest while she slept. The fresh and sweet scent of her permeated my senses. She was so perfect. I wanted to lift her into my arms and rock her. I wanted to feel her warmth against me. To let her know she was safe and loved. That she would be for all of time. Sometimes I gave into the urge and swept her into my arms and against my heart.

I should have given in the other nite.

"The only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a sleeping child." ~Joe Houldsworth