He’s up again. I tucked him in, sang him songs, kissed him. I hugged him one more time and promised to check on him later.
But here are the footsteps on the stairs, the pause in the next room, the little blond head peeking around the kitchen doorway. “Mama?”
Just one more kiss.
Just one more hug.
Just one more snuggle.
Up we go. I run through our relaxation routine. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in and make your body hard as ice. Breathe out and melt. Melt your toes, your feet. Your ankles, your calves. We move up his body, melting into the bed.
I melt, too. I move with him into a space of quiet. Our breathing is even. It’s time for sleep.
He’s down. And now I’m the one who has to get up again.