I wonder how long I can do this. Up every hour, maybe two, through the night. The squeaky glider. Closing the door behind me, then opening to double check on her.
I’m tired. I know that parents are supposed to be tired, but McKinley just doesn’t sleep well alone. Some nights she ends up in our bed. Ok, most nights.
I won’t let her cry, even if everyone says she’s playing me. I did for one night, and yes, after 7 minutes she went back to sleep. But until she can tell me what her cries mean, why should I ignore them? Maybe she has nightmares. Maybe her mattress is uncomfortable. Maybe she has a belly ache. I don’t like to sleep alone, so I’m not sure why I make her.
The monitor lights up, I hear her little cry. Grab my glasses and my phone (Thank you, God, for smart phones), and I rescue her. When she cries out, I come to her. Gosh, I’m thankful to know what that feels like.
The days (and nights) are so long. But the years. They are flying by. Soon, this will be a memory. And as odd as it sounds, I don’t want to forget.