A few minutes past midnight

Walking as softly as I can

down a creaky corridor

I turn into his room

make my way to the bed

The stillness is its own noise

and it is far too dark to see

I raise my hand to the familiar

place in the air

It's the same as being underwater, I think

Reaching upward to light at the surface because its somehow familiar, comforting

Because its just the place your hand should be

My palm falls momentarily on his spine

I don't squint this time

I don't lean in closer as usual

I exhale just a bit

I can feel his breath at my wrist

All is well.

Comments

[Andrea Serie]

Your post is a beautiful description of a mother's unbelievable comfort found in the sound and feeling of her breathing child. Such a simple action followed each night by millions of parents, which can put you at ease to know that your child is comfortably resting. If there is ever a morning when I awake prior to my toddler son, my stomach tightens for an initial moment of panic as to why I was not woken by his babbling or chirps for his morning milk. The sound of his little man snore creates such a feeling of relief. My former childless self would have thought, "Panic? Be happy you got a few extra minutes of sleep!" These are moments you can only truly understand once you become a parent….