the family bed
Last night my bride-to-be, 20-something baby girl snuggled with me. This was one of the few times since she replaced this source of security with that of her groom-to-be over 3 years ago. [They don’t sleep together…but I noticed her need for affection and physical touch was being tended in his arms and no longer mine…that is how it is supposed to be.] She decided to go to bed earlier than usual, which afforded this rare opportunity to begin with.
As she lay there, where Kevin would find her an hour or so later, gently wake her and send her to her room, we quietly talked about wedding details, about a bunch of little things that usually get reduced into small bites of conversation as she’s heading out the door, and it was nice. She’s just so beautiful. So sweet. So…mine.
From the first night in the hospital until she was older than many people are comfortable with, she slept either cuddled under my chin or in my arms when she went to sleep at night. For years we listened to people who said that was a big mistake. We even tried for a while to establish a routine of putting her to bed ahead of us and making her stay there. This almost certainly required Kevin to crawl from the living room [this was their thing], through the hallway to the side of her bed to read her story after story, or one of us picking her up and holding her till she fell asleep.
On the nights she actually fell asleep on her own, we rarely made it through the night without hearing her little feet come our way, landing by the side of our bed until I picked her up and tossed her under the covers.
I think they called it the “family bed”. Which weirds me out just a bit, but it was anything but weird for the three of us. Some of my favorite moments were those times of night when her hair was up against my face and I could pray over her as she fell asleep. She was a twirler. She habitually twirled a strand of our hair between her chubby little fingers for what seemed like forever while she drifted off to sleep. Surprising to me was that Kevin had more patience for this peculiar fetish than I did. And when I reached my limit she would nuzzle his direction and resume. Even now, she twirls her own when she sits still or talks about something for very long.
I miss her being little. I miss her reaching for me. I miss her little voice and I miss the smell of her breath and the sound of her breathing. Hmm. My sweet, baby girl.
I prayed you to sleep last night, my precious one. With prayers pretty similar to the ones I’ve been praying over you since I could see your little foot pressed against the inside of my stomach. That you would be His. That you would breathe His love for you. That you would be healthy, and filled with joy and peace and love. That He would protect and direct your steps always. That He would establish His good and perfect will for your life. That He would prepare a godly man to love and care for you. That He would keep you both pure, that you would wait for each other. That you would never doubt for one little second how much I love and adore you. That one day, one precious, glorious day, you would laugh…like your mother.
I love you, Shawna Lynn. Sweet dreams.
As she lay there, where Kevin would find her an hour or so later, gently wake her and send her to her room, we quietly talked about wedding details, about a bunch of little things that usually get reduced into small bites of conversation as she’s heading out the door, and it was nice. She’s just so beautiful. So sweet. So…mine.
From the first night in the hospital until she was older than many people are comfortable with, she slept either cuddled under my chin or in my arms when she went to sleep at night. For years we listened to people who said that was a big mistake. We even tried for a while to establish a routine of putting her to bed ahead of us and making her stay there. This almost certainly required Kevin to crawl from the living room [this was their thing], through the hallway to the side of her bed to read her story after story, or one of us picking her up and holding her till she fell asleep.
On the nights she actually fell asleep on her own, we rarely made it through the night without hearing her little feet come our way, landing by the side of our bed until I picked her up and tossed her under the covers.
I think they called it the “family bed”. Which weirds me out just a bit, but it was anything but weird for the three of us. Some of my favorite moments were those times of night when her hair was up against my face and I could pray over her as she fell asleep. She was a twirler. She habitually twirled a strand of our hair between her chubby little fingers for what seemed like forever while she drifted off to sleep. Surprising to me was that Kevin had more patience for this peculiar fetish than I did. And when I reached my limit she would nuzzle his direction and resume. Even now, she twirls her own when she sits still or talks about something for very long.
I miss her being little. I miss her reaching for me. I miss her little voice and I miss the smell of her breath and the sound of her breathing. Hmm. My sweet, baby girl.
I prayed you to sleep last night, my precious one. With prayers pretty similar to the ones I’ve been praying over you since I could see your little foot pressed against the inside of my stomach. That you would be His. That you would breathe His love for you. That you would be healthy, and filled with joy and peace and love. That He would protect and direct your steps always. That He would establish His good and perfect will for your life. That He would prepare a godly man to love and care for you. That He would keep you both pure, that you would wait for each other. That you would never doubt for one little second how much I love and adore you. That one day, one precious, glorious day, you would laugh…like your mother.
I love you, Shawna Lynn. Sweet dreams.
posted by ret at 7:39 AM
2 Comments:
your prayer needs to become a song Loretta, perhaps for an upcoming wedding.
:)
Post a Comment
<< Home