He’s always been a mama’s boy. He uses any excuse for me to hold him. He’s always got an eye on where I am at any given moment. His desire to have me close is always present.
Perhaps that’s why it’s been so hard for him to sleep in his bed each night without waking up and calling my name. He doesn’t have the best sleep record. And even on the “good” nights, he still wakes up yelling for me. Of course I cave and bring him in bed with us in hopes that both of us can get more shut-eye before the alarm goes off in the morning. But even as he lays next to me, that’s not enough.
His arm reaches over to mine and he grabs it tightly. He wants to feel me close to him. It’s comforting for him. It makes him feel safe. Throughout the night when we both eventually fall asleep, I’ll roll over with my back towards him. It’s as if he has a sixth sense for that sort of thing, because the second that I do, he immediately wakes up and climbs on top of me so that he can be as close as possible to me.
Now he sleeps on the top of my chest. I feel him breathing softly on mine. He’s fast asleep and I try my hardest to fall asleep again, but those days when I could do this when he was a newborn are now long gone. He’s much bigger now, but in some ways he still needs me just as much as he did a few years ago.
I’m painfully aware of how quickly time passes. Fleeting moments that I desperately try to hold on to. Perhaps that’s why I go in his room every night. Perhaps that’s why I give him that comfort. I know it won’t be like this forever. The power of my touch will always be there, but it won’t be as essential. And so that’s why I hold on to these moments. And I hope he does too.
Because all I want him to know is that I’ll hold his hand throughout his life. It’s there whenever he needs that comfort. The comfort of touch.