Family

---

Sabrina and I were sleeping together in Mama’s bed this morning (as we nearly always do when Daddy’s on a trip). We both have colds, and we have slept in late. I could have gone on sleeping, as I was awake often during the night making sure she was covered up.

To be honest, I’ve only slept completely through the night once since Sabrina was born. Getting up to check on her and cover her is a routine procedure. I wish it was routine for her daddy, too, but he seems to have missed that gene and he sleeps unbothered, blissfully unconcerned about little arms, legs, and feet that might be cold.

As Sabrina nudges and nags me awake with comments of “What are we doing today?” “Mama, I’m hungry!” and “Get up, it’s daytime!” I reluctantly pull myself into a sitting position on the side of the bed. Sabrina, seeing me in motion, automatically aligns herself into position, too—right up into my lap.

I sit holding her for a moment, thinking of my various destinations and errands: the coffee pot, the trash that needs to be taken out, the laundry. Meanwhile, Sabrina settles in for a nice, long snuggle.

I realize she has reached her destination: mama’s lap.

I cuddle my daughter, rocking her back and forth, making all the same ridiculous snuggle noises I’ve made to her since the first few moments I looked into her eyes—a lifelong history of stupid Mama sounds that bring familiar comfort to both her and me.

I make myself sit and give her this time, obviously the highest priority for her morning. Without these moments, the day just wouldn’t be right for her.

I continue to sit when she commands, “Stay still like a statue!”—a phrase recently learned for a children's game. She goes to retrieve her stuffed dog and her favorite pillow, bringing them with her to feather her nest a bit more.

I patiently sit and rock her, suddenly remembering my childhood. Picturing coming home from school with the word “Mom?” coming out of my mouth before the door had even slammed. If Mom wasn’t there, what was the point of being home? Mom was “home.” So I spend a few more minutes than I normally would, snuggling, rocking, and murmuring before I ring the release bell with, “Want to watch cartoons?”

And then she’s off to conquer the world, and I’ve done the most important thing I could have done all day.

Dear Father, thank you for being “home” to me, and never too busy for a nice, long snuggle. Without it, some days my world just wouldn’t seem right.

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE AS A MEMBER OR VISITOR