From the depths of my sleep, I slowly drifted into lighter patterns. Gradually became conscious of movement beside me. A tugging, a wiggling. Then a plaintive whine, "Uh, huh." Aila has awakened and is thinking a nursey would be just the thing. I open my sticky eyes. The first shades of dawn are filtering through the curtains. The clock glows 6:30. A urgent need to go to the bathroom comes over me. "Alright." I murmur. "Just a minute. Mama will be right back." I hurry to do my business and stop at the beds of my other 3 dreaming chickadees to make sure they are tucked in, cozy and warm.
Back in our bed, Aila is fussing at my delay. I jump in quickly to the warmth of the covers. She is quieted and cuddles down expectantly. She latches on in satisfaction. The wiggling commences. Her hand pats, rubs. She tucks her feet in between my legs, a habit that at best is mildly annoying, but with a sharp toenail becomes intolerable. The toenail is quite scratchy today, like a small barb. I try to move her legs away, but she is persistent. For a moment I think how big, yet small she is. Recall that Levi and Tirzah both weaned at her age. Gradually sleep overtakes her and she settles down. I back away in one swift motion, readjusting myself and moments later am asleep again. Not deep sleep, for the small movements of a small girl dreaming beside me prevent it, but dozing, drifting, for what seems like 10? 20? 30? minutes.
The wiggling pulls me from my blissful unconscious state again. I groan inwardly. It's Saturday. Doesn't she know it's the day we are supposed to sleep in? Perhaps if I lie very still, she will go back to sleep. This actually works sometimes. But not today. Full daylight streams in the curtains. I half-open one eye. She is staring at me; reaches out and pokes my one shut eye and giggles. I push her hand away. She crawls over to my left side and I expect another request to nurse. But no, she just lies down on my arm and cuddles.
I feign sleep a while longer, but finally open both eyes. She is still staring full in my face and her face breaks out in an intense squinty grin. I chuckle. Who can be grumpy with this? So we loll around, her flopping and resting, patting and snuggling. Me soaking it up. Noticing her soft, sweet, dimpled hands caressing, then poking. Enjoying her goofy faces: smiles, squinting, squeezing, pulling her mouth out by the corners, laughing. Wishing she would always stay this way, and we could go on snuggling forever.
From the floor, the cat meows. Aila sits up quickly calling, "Kitty!" Footsteps go down the stairs, then a click, click, click, click. "Doggy!" she announces. "Is that the doggy?" I whisper. She flops down again, with a beseeching "Uh huh." The wake-up nursey. Why not? So we settle for a few more minutes, delaying the inevitable. Her dark, round eyes looking up in trust, her small white hands tapping, patting, probing, pulling. I ponder the moment, think of the day's events. Considering the fact that Aila will be 2 in just 2 months and won't wake up beside me much longer, I realize that this is a forever moment. But my memory is so poor. Like a sieve, these precious times slip through and fade into a pleasant blur. Realize that when children are small, we feel pressured for time and energy. Taking time to breathe and give thanks and enjoy them can be a discipline. But not now. This is unhurried bliss.
She takes her time, then releases and pulls back in a deliberate way. "Are you done?" I ask. She gives me another squinty-eyed grin. Goofball. She gets up, and plunges headlong over my legs, sliding down over the end of the bed into the promise of a new day.
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