I did a mental calculation. I’ve spent approximately 1150 hours lying on the bed waiting for Lauren to fall asleep. At 2 years old I still accompany her to bed. Most nights, I’d run over to-do list in my head. I can’t wait to sneak out of the room after she falls asleep. There are blogs to post, emails to answer, and tv shows to watch.
Sometimes she takes 10 mins, often half an hour and at times, like tonight for example, more than an hour. Some nights, I would fall asleep in her bed but mostly I get very impatient and slightly annoyed when she takes some time drifting into slumberland.
Tonight, however, I was in my contemplative mood. Perhaps the chocolate I had earlier mellowed me. After about 30 minutes of silence, just when I thought I could leave and get on with my ‘me’ time, Lauren suddenly started singing. I believe it was B.I.N.G.O. I can make out B, I and O from the babbleness. Then she got up and started jumping on the bed, fully awake. I pulled her down next to me and shushed her to sleep.
Then she started singing a very butchered version of the Cuppycake song. Usually I’d be annoyed by now, but tonight I thought it was rather cute. It suddenly hits me that I should feel this way every single night.
When I’m at my deathbed, these will be the memories that keep me warm and smiling as I let out my last breath. It may be a little morbid to have thoughts like this but I do think about death from time to time. Why not? Death and taxes are the only certainties in life, after all. Anyway, I digress.
Tonight, I vow to be patient with Lauren and try to enjoy these moments every night. Moments when my daughter is still babbling and needs me to be able to fall asleep. The way she sings Cuppycake song and not getting the words right. The way she subconsciously digs my tummy. These are the moments I will flash back upon. Not an episode of Homeland or my Instagram feed.
Just when my thoughts were trailing off, I noticed Lauren has stopped singing and fallen asleep in my arms. I wish I could still feel her baby breath on my face when I slip into my eternal slumber.
