As I tuck my daughter into bed each night, she twirls a strand of her hair and asks, “Can I tell you something?” It’s a classic delaying tactic that every kid seems to master. They might not know how to tie their shoes, and they think ketchup is a spice, but when it comes to stalling bedtime, they’re pros.
With a resigned sigh, I nod and listen to her recount the simple stories of her day. I watch her face light up with emotion, trying to hold onto the memory of when she was just a tiny bundle, expressing herself through cries and gummy smiles that reassured me I was getting this parenting thing right. Once she takes a breath, I tell her I love her, throw a firm “goodnight” over my shoulder, and slip away down the hallway to enjoy some peace.
Some nights, when nostalgia hits me hard, I sneak back into her room hours later like a denim-clad ghost. In the quiet moonlight, I talk to her while she dreams. It’s the only moment of the day when her little body is still. She’s not bouncing off the walls, jumping, yelping, or asking me, “Why is that person making that face?”
When she’s asleep, I gently trace the contours of her face, push back the sweaty hair that has gathered like vines across her forehead, and lightly caress the bridge of her nose, almost as if I could grant wishes like a genie.
Her room feels warm and full of soft, humid air; it’s like her little nostrils have been crafted from paper mache, and I’d rather not deal with the midnight nosebleeds that come with it. The night-light casts a soft, lemony glow, and the buildings outside exhale after a long day of absorbing the city’s hustle.
In those moments, I share my thoughts with her. I tell her how my favorite part of each day is our morning drives, where her joyful, off-key songs fill the backseat with laughter. Those silly notes escape through the cracked window and join the city’s symphony.
I tell her that sometimes, when I see my own reflection in her little face, I’m taken aback, almost like I’ve bitten my cheek. Amidst the sleep deprivation and daily challenges, I sometimes forget that long ago, I reached down, touched the top of her head, and felt an overwhelming rush as she was placed on my chest for the first time.
I promise her I will be better tomorrow. I’ll listen more closely. I’ll be patient with her boundaries and manage my own expectations.
Most importantly, I tell her I love her—oh, how I love her! It’s a love that feels almost unfair, so powerful that words can barely capture it.
Some nights, as I slowly rise from beside her, I see her stir. Her legs kick, her eyelids flicker, and her arm finds its way across her stuffed animals. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if she sensed my whispered confessions wrapping around her like a warm blanket. I quietly close her door and leave her to dream, hoping she’ll have wonderful stories to share in the morning.
This article was originally published on September 16, 2015. For more insights into parenting and family life, you can check out other posts on our blog or see this excellent resource on artificial insemination.
Summary
This article shares a heartfelt reflection from a parent’s perspective as they tuck their daughter into bed. It explores the tender moments shared during bedtime, the love and promises made, and the quiet connection felt while she sleeps. The narrative captures the beauty and challenges of parenting, emphasizing the importance of those small, intimate moments.