As I glance to my side, I see her eyelids fluttered shut. I lean in closer, realizing that her lively face and chatty nature have softened into a peaceful slumber. Sleep must have crept in during the movie while I was momentarily distracted, coaxing her to release her grip on wakefulness and embrace the delightful dreams swirling in her mind.
My heart swells with warmth as I prepare for the task ahead. Quietly, I ease myself off the couch, shifting the coffee table aside. Today, she’s brought along her favorite Minions blanket and her plush blue bunny, so I set Bunny gently in front of her, wrap her snugly in the blanket, and scoop them both into my arms.
With bare feet, I carefully navigate the darkened basement, mindful of any stray toys her brother might have left behind. Holding her close, I ascend the 17 stairs, balancing the weight of my little girl along with her beloved bunny and blanket. The heaviness is nothing compared to my concern about bumping her head on a doorway or tripping over a hidden obstacle.
I know these moments are fleeting. I won’t always be the one she drifts off beside, the safe harbor she seeks after a long day. The days of being her go-to for movie nights, comfort, and sharing secrets will eventually fade as she grows. Each of these tender moments is a treasure I want to hold onto, knowing that one day, I may not be her first choice.
As I reach the cool hardwood floor of the main hall, I instinctively lean to block the harsh overhead lights from her face. The sounds of my husband typing away in his office mix with the ESPN broadcast, prompting me to softly hush her to keep her asleep as I make my way to the next flight of stairs. I catch a glimpse of my son, who seems engrossed in the television, perhaps intentionally ignoring me to delay bedtime.
It’s a bittersweet sight. He’s growing up, fiercely intelligent, eager to be older yet still possessing that irresistible, toothless grin that melts my heart. Right now, he’s captivated by the bright screen, and I turn my focus back to my sleepy bundle in my arms. The flashes of light and buzzing sounds cause her to stir slightly, but I gently bounce her against my chest, willing her to stay asleep. Thankfully, she does. With my elbow, I switch off the upstairs light, and we ascend.
Fifteen more steps with my precious cargo feel effortless. I’ve faced greater challenges as a mom and know the real hurdles lie ahead. I won’t drop her; my grip is firm, and my heart is determined.
We finally reach her room, which, despite her earlier claims, is still a delightful chaos of toys and art supplies. With a bit of maneuvering, I gently lay her in her favorite spot on the unmade bed, carefully arranging the blankets around her. Bunny to her right and her Minions blanket to her left, I tuck her in snugly, feeling a pang of nostalgia as I gaze down at her. It’s as if I’ve lost a piece of my own comfort, knowing that this time will eventually pass.
I cherish these moments, not knowing how many more times I will be able to carry her like this. I inhale the sweet scent of maple and crayons that lingers in the air, imprinting it in my memory. I remind myself that I will always lift her when she needs me, guiding her safely to where she belongs.
A soft sigh escapes her lips as she rolls onto her side, snuggling deeper into her blankets. I smooth the covers one last time, plant a gentle kiss on her forehead, and quietly exit her room, whispering my love for her and wishing her sweet dreams.
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In summary, the simple act of carrying my sleepy child is a moment I treasure deeply, reminding me of the fleeting nature of childhood. I will hold onto these memories as long as I can, cherishing every last cuddle and sweet scent of innocence.