Clara is a silly sleeper, something that I have come to appreciate on nights like these. Tonight’s nonsense came after a particularly emotional weekend for me. I can’t truly put my finger on what has been bringing me down, but I do know that the trigger has been Clara’s potty training accidents. Don’t get me wrong, she has been doing phenomenally well, and I am deeply proud of the progress she is making, but I just can’t seem to shake the disappointment when she has an accident. For some reason, it just kills me to spend so much time doing all the right things to have it go wrong in the end, but that’s on me. Nevertheless, this post is definitely not about potty training as I am quite obviously not an expert. Maybe someday after Eloise is fully trained, I’ll offer my advice to anyone frenzied enough to seek it, but I digress.
Matthew is off to work tonight, something that isn’t very common but is necessary this evening. Getting the girls off to sleep was slightly more challenging than usual due, surprisingly so, to Eloise. She is usually our calm, cool, and collected little one but tonight, she wasn’t having it. Lots of crying lead to a stressed out mom, a stressed out dad, and a stressed out dog. Through all the chaos, I didn’t truly get to say goodnight to my sweet babe, and not until after she had drifted off did I realize that I hadn’t told her how much mommy loves her: more than all the words in all the books and all the stars in the sky. So, after Eloise fell asleep, Matthew left for work, and I finished pumping, I snuck down to my Clara’s room, and ever so quietly, I crept to the side of her bed where I perched myself on her blue doughnut stool.
I spent just about five minutes in her room, surely no more than that, watching her chest rise and fall in perfectly-timed integrals. It was a perfect moment and a perfect memory I tried to paint in my mind. Her head in the middle of her bed and her feet resting delicately atop her mermaid pillow. Her beautiful hand gently gripping doggie blanket, the closest thing she has to a security blanket. Her hair a mess from a busy day in the pool, perfectly sticking up in four different directions. Her eyelids fluttering softly as she dreamed her sweet dreams. Doggie, Monkey, Seal, Dolly, and Puppy all surrounding her little body. (Please refrain from commentary on her creative naming skills. It’s something we’re trying to work on…) Minnie Mouse Search and Find (a potty prize) and an awesome book simply entitled Space resting on her nightstand, illuminated by her night light stars, remnants of story time with Daddy. The sign above her bed a constant reminder of our beautiful bond: I Love You More Than All The Stars. As I gazed upon my remarkable daughter, I smiled to myself at the memory of when Matthew and I would watch her sleep as a baby. Each night, we would sneak into her nursery and check on her before going to bed. More often than not, one of us would make the door creak or the dog would come galumphing in and Clara would stir. We would try so hard to stay still, sometimes hiding behind one another, but she would roll over or eventually, stand up, reach for us, and we would end up repeating the entire bedtime routine. For a while, it was worth it. That’s how much we loved to watch her sleep. And that’s why I knew that it would set me right tonight. And it did. Because the moment that I captured in my mind and I’m playing back right now, that moment is pure bliss. It’s the sweetest kind of innocence. It’s the deepest kind of love.
Clara doesn’t really know it, but she works hard every single day. She works for her words. She works for her social interactions. She works for her appropriate peer play and for her ability to tolerate change and rebound from disappointment. She works to overcome challenges that we may not even know she’s experiencing. She does not, however, have to work when she is asleep. She gets to dream about strawberries, stars and sparkles. About running with Chesie. About fixing things with Daddy. About snuggles with Mommy. And while she dreams, I get to dream too. I dream of popsicle kisses and gummy newborn smiles. I dream of two little hands that both fit within my palm simultaneously. I dream of perfectly imperfect days with my girls, of time not moving too quickly, of holding on to just one more moment with a thirty-two-month-old and a three-month-old. And honestly, I dream of a time when Clara doesn’t have to work so hard for the things that always came naturally to me. I dream of a day when I won’t have to question whether she will have friends. I dream of showing these words to her and hopefully being able to convey just how much I have always loved her. Until then, she’ll simply have to settle for my relentless hugs, my neverending words of encouragement, and perhaps, from time to time, waking up to the feeling of her mommy gently stroking her head while she sleeps.
