See you in the morning.

Do your kids get in bed with you?

Or have you fallen into the trap of rubbing their backs for what seems like hours, or crawling into bed with them to help them fall asleep?

Maybe you’re super mom and a kid whisperer, and your kid slept in their crib through the night at 18 months and never looked back…

But me?

I cave.

Now I don’t like the overly used phrases, like ‘Everything happens for a reason’ or ‘They’re only little once!’

Mostly because, I want to do right by them.

Do the right thing, make them strong and teach them good habits.

But there’s just something about snuggling with your child that makes everyone’s judge-y comments and the want to help them be the best they can be…. meaningless.

There’s not much else I’d rather do, actually.

The fact that my presence alone… my body, can melt this kid… lull her to sleep.

Give her comfort and the feeling of safety that she so desperately needs.

It’s exactly what I was put here to do.

It feels right.

It feels good to be needed.

It feels good to be that for her, to fill that need.

When she was just learning to talk, I would lay with her at bedtime.

She had the floor bunk of a bunk bed in her room she shared with her sister.

She would snuggle up and ask me to rub her arm.

I’d pet her hair, and tickle her face.

Around her eyes and down her nose, slowly, as her sleepy eyes closed.

And right before she was ready to give in and fall asleep…

Her little voice would say, ‘I’ll see you in the morning, Mom’

Even though it’s overused.

They do grow up fast.

What you were put here on this earth to do, just quickly passes by.

And they don’t need you to lay with them.

Or to rub their arm.

Or pat their butt.

Or be near.

And when you think about it, it feels like you’re being robbed.

As a mother, you have a very strong attachment, a bond.

And you want to be near them always, too.

But, at the same time, you’re responsible for teaching them to not be near you.

It doesn’t seem fair.

Your purpose.

Is slowly being ripped away.

But from your own doing?

You can’t slow it down.

You’re excited for them, but sad for you.

Simultaneously.

A very strange feeling.

Time passing, as a mother.

Three years old.

Four years old.

Still to this day, five years old, and the feistiest of bedtime fighters…

I laid with her last night.

Rubbed her arm.

She kicked her legs.

And tossed.

And turned.

Rubbing the tags of her baby blanket between her fingers.

I could feel all of the tension in her body, release.

Mine too.

Then she whispered.

I’ll see you in the morning, Mom.