Reality Check

After months, possibly even a whole year, of being able to sleep alone (minus spawn of varying shapes and sizes), it seems that my mommy magnet is once again pulling them to my side in the middle of the night. It is normally Dora who sneaks in ninja-silent, and cuddles up against my back, as I would imagine a baby gopher or bunny might. She then falls into one of her baby comas, disturbing no one for the remainder of sleepy time. If Freddy happens to come to before 6 a.m., he is not known to be quite as gentle. We are trying to break him (literally) from coming in and poking me in the forehead, demanding food. I do not normally respond in a positive manner to such requests. Be warned... However, something has changed. I used to be so, so, INTERRUPTED by them, wishing and wanting them to go back upstairs, back to their own beds, in their own rooms always reeking of Cheerios and Mattel, plastic and Play-DOH. But there has been an awakening of sorts. My son is 6 and wears a size 10, my daughter 3, wears a 6...they aren’t babies anymore, and never will be again. The poopy diapers and dirty burp cloths I once despised are now moments that I miss. The toddler clinging to a leg with a death grip, the cooking an edible meal with one arm, that’s all gone. So now, instead of pushing them back up the stairs, I invite them in, pull the covers back, and nestle them in beside me, one on my right, one on my left. A mommy sandwich if you will. I listen to them breathing, to Dora nearly sucking the skin off her thumb as she dreams, and I say a prayer of thanks. I am blessed to be able to watch them grow. I take a moment to enjoy the sanity that family has brought to my life, and revel in the warmth that radiates from these two small beings. It is then that I realize that the warmth has spread, and keeps spreading, and is a bit too wet to be just my imagination. Dora has peed on me, AND my bed. Thank you God for the realization of dreams AND the reality checks.