Tonight, as I stood in my baby girl’s room and bounced her in the dark, I wondered about you.
I wondered if you were bouncing your baby, too. I wondered if your baby, like my baby, didn’t seem to want to drift off to sleep, and if you were running out of ideas as to how to soothe her.
I wondered if your back was hurting, like mine was, but you didn’t dare stretch because that precious baby was settled into the place only she fits, and any slight movement might bring on the cries again.
I wondered how tired you felt tonight. I imagined it had been a long day. Don’t the days always seem so long, when you’re in the thick of it?
Something about the nighttime makes me slow down, though, and I wondered if you felt that way, too. At night, I look back on the activities of the day and I think to myself – did I love them enough? Did I play enough with my oldest? Did I cuddle the baby enough?
You may know what I mean when I say that, as I had these thoughts, I was dancing. Bouncing, and dancing around the room, holding my little girl close so she can hear my heartbeat in her ear, and thinking to myself, “when will she close those eyes and drift off?” And just as those words passed through my mind, I wondered at time and its bad habit of always jumping forward just when you least expect it.
One day, she will go to sleep without me. One day will be the last day I bounce her to sleep. And as my thoughts returned to you, sweet mama who is right in the thick of it alongside me, I wanted to tell you that you aren’t alone in wanting the rush of time to pass, but dreading it at the same time.
Motherhood is a complexity, it’s a hurry up and linger kind of life.
My baby finally did drift away on a little dream, and as I laid her down – ever so slowly and carefully – I thought I would write this letter to you to simply say:
I see you. I’m with you. You’re doing an amazing thing, with this mothering. We’re in this together, all of us. <3