Updated: July 2, 2020
Originally Published: Sep. 8, 2015
Sometimes, as I lay in bed at night, I find myself reflecting on you. I think about our day together, the moments that unfolded, and the things I wish I had done differently.
I replay the times when I might have missed opportunities to connect with you or when my actions didn’t quite hit the mark. I think of the words I spoke, or didn’t speak, that could have made a difference in your little world.
I remember the times when my reactions might have cast a shadow over your typically bright demeanor. I consider all the little errors I made throughout the day and the numerous do-overs I wish I could have.
Like that moment I lost my cool when you accidentally spilled your cereal all over the kitchen floor. You were only trying to be helpful by bringing your bowl to the sink. Instead of getting upset, I could have reassured you with, “It’s alright, sweetheart. Mama spills things too. Thank you for your help.” I could have handed you the broom and let you sweep it up, and I know you would have beamed with pride.
I think about how I brushed you off when you excitedly brought me the “First 100 Cars” book for the umpteenth time. I felt a headache coming on and thought it was easier to say, “not now.” But I could have taken a moment, popped an Advil, and enjoyed the warmth of your little body in my lap as you pointed out your favorite vehicle.
There’s that time I muttered unkind words under my breath when you refused to eat the lunch I prepared and chose to play instead. You were simply being a curious toddler, exploring your imaginative world. I could have turned it into a fun game about airplanes needing fuel, offering you a snack and joining in your joyful flight around the kitchen.
I recall how frustrated I became when you wouldn’t stop tugging at my hair, and in a moment of anger, I pulled you toward your room a little too forcefully. You looked up at me with tears in your eyes. I should have embraced you and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. Grownups make mistakes too.” Instead, I shut the door, leaving you alone with your tears.
Then there were those moments when you and your sister fought over who would sit in my lap, and my impatience led me to push you both away, declaring, “Now no one gets to sit with me.” All you wanted was to be close, and I could have turned that into a cozy snuggle session instead.
There will come a day when you both won’t fit in my lap, and even more so, when you won’t want to. I think about how much I’m going to miss you when you’re not just down the hall. The thought of you growing up fills me with a sense of urgency. I realize how much time I’ve wasted being upset over trivial matters.
My love for you is immense, almost painfully so, like a heart bursting with all the moments we share together. I think about you tucked away in your own bed, and I ache for you in your absence. It’s often in those quiet moments that I realize how deeply I want to hold you close while I still can.
And as sleep eludes me, I dream of sneaking into your room, lifting you in my arms, and pressing you against my heart, whispering “I’m sorry” as you rest against me. I imagine the comfort of your small arms wrapping around me, fitting perfectly like a missing piece of a puzzle.
Yet, I resist the urge to wake you, unwilling to disturb your peaceful slumber the way my thoughts have disrupted mine. Instead, as I lay my head down, I resolve to cultivate better thoughts for tomorrow.
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In summary, as a parent, I often find myself reflecting on my actions and words, wishing I could cherish each moment more fully and let go of the little frustrations. The love I hold for my children is profound, and I am reminded nightly to embrace it fully.