Mommy, can I sleep with you? I had a bad dream. Mommy, kiss it. Mommy, make it better. Mommy, I love you…

Mom, can I eat in my room? Mom, I want to go with my friends. Mom, just drop us off, we’ll be fine.

I watch you swear, fart, and be inappropriate about sex, and the smirk that crawls across your face still looks like the little boy afraid to fall asleep alone. I bend to kiss your forehead goodnight, and remember how I longed to drop you into your crib and walk away. I longed for a moment alone, without a body in my arms. I sit in the plush rocking chair, the cushion sunken from the weight, the weight of hours, nights, and years rocking… Rocking

A deep voice cracks and leaps out, “Mom!”. I jump because a stranger has just entered the room. I examine your smile, and check for remnants of rosy toddler cheeks, bubbling above a now-defined jaw. No one else sees the pudgy nose, blue ocean eyes, or wispy blonde curls. I am always looking at two people at once - a face and a decade, fully memorized by my heart. Even as you yell, threaten, and assert yourself, I still see innocent red lips, and arms reaching out to be caught by me.

Unfamiliar with your world, and you unfamiliar with mine, we often mis-step and fumble around one another. I reach for you, but not at the right time. You reach for me, but I miss it.

You never told me when it would be the last time. For years I woke up frustrated and tired, anxious to get a good night’s sleep in my own bed, without thrashing legs and midnight dreams.

I taught you how to need me less. I gathered you and tucked you back into your own bed. Go back to sleep, you can do it, it’s all ok.

Motherhood lasts so long and feels so consuming, I forget to notice the moments that might be the last, even when I seemingly want them to end. You’re out in the world now, and even though I know you need me, even though I know there are new challenges and new forms of exhaustion, I sense that a bulk of who you are, and my role in it, has made a lasting imprint.

New friends, new teachers, and everyone else who will never come close to loving you as much as I do, will impact you now.

I taught you how to need me less, the sacrifice of all sacrifices. The letting go beyond all reason, the allowing of a person who grew inside you, to grow outside you. To be. That’s how much I love you.

I don’t remember the last time you crawled in - because you never told me, and I forgot to pay attention.

Did I miss it?

Or are there still a few nights left?

PS - We live in Wisconsin; please put on a coat.