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Friday, November 29, 2013

A Cold Night Snuggle.

Earlier this week, Alexandra fell asleep a couple of hours before bedtime. She had crawled into bed, tucked herself in and just, zzzzzz, was out like a light. So we decided to see if she would sleep the whole night through, and let her catch up on her sleep. Around 11pm when we went to bed we noticed she'd turned her light on and was awake. So we changed her into her jammies, red her a story and got her settled back down.

She seemed keen on it, but after completing my nightly toilette, I peeked in and she was wide awake, staring right at me. "I'm freezing," she said, despite being under two warm blankets, in a nightgown and jammie pants, and not knowing what "freezing" means (well maybe she did, since earlier that day I had instructed her she must put her pants and socks back on since her legs and feet were "freezing"). But let me tell you, I am a sucker for bedtime snuggles, and since she had fallen asleep at 6pm, and I had worked all day, I had had basically zero time with her.

"Wanna come to bed with us?" "Mm-hmm!!" and out of bed she scrambled, trotting ahead of me to climb into our big bed. And oh, how we burrowed. Oh, how we curled around each other, a big S and a little s on their sides, her head on my bicep and the covers to our chins. Todd came in soon after, another big S facing us, our heads bent together like sleepytime conspirators in our chilly bedroom.

The way her body nestles into mine will never get old, and neither will the realization that I am a provider of comfort for her, simply by existing. I remember how comforting it was to snuggle up with my mom in her bed, how being cradled in her arms was a security, a reminder that there was someone larger than me in my life to protect me, a huge force of love there just for me.

Feeling how Alex hunkers down, scooting back against me, eyes closing immediately despite having been asleep for five hours already, how she sort of mumbles and murmurs as she gets comfortable between the two pillars holding up her world, her parents, and knowing that she is at peace, she feels comfort and security, that she knows she can come to us, that our arms are open, and knowing all we have to do is love her, and be ourselves for her, is quite possibly the best feeling in the world. It's frought with responsibility, anxiety at times, and constant accountability, but all of that is such a small price to pay.

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