In the Middle of the Night...

Andrew didn't feel well last night. At 5 AM we woke up and heard him throwing up in his bathroom; stomach bug, not alcohol. We both got up and went to see if he was OK, Jeffrey moved a little quicker than I did, vomit is not really my thing. Why didn't he wake us up for help if he was sick? When did he get so grown up? Jeffrey did the up-close assistance, as he always has in this case, I handle the aftercare. A bit later I took him back to his bed, put a wet washcloth on his forehead (my mom always did it for me and it still feels good when I'm sick), turned off the lights and sat on the edge of his bed. For the first time in a very long time, I sat there and rubbed his arm and he didn't push me away or tell me to stop. It could also be that he was falling back to sleep, but I'm going to stick with the thought that he needed a little mothering. I asked him if he wanted to come and sleep with us, I already knew the answer, but I thought I'd give it a try. As I walked back down the hall to my bed, without him, I realized that those days are now just memories of a long gone era.

Obviously, I know that this is supposed to happen, it would be odd to have my 6 ft.tall 16-year-old son get in bed between us, but I'm still sad that it's over. Funny how time changes our perspective on things; for so many years I wished that I could get a good night’s sleep without a child crawling in and keeping us up half the night.  I was always a softie when it came to bedtime and middle-of-the-night wake-ups. Partially because I was usually too exhausted to care; easier to let them fall asleep in here and move them to their room later, and also because I loved feeling the warmth of their bodies next to mine and listening to the easy rhythm of their breathing. When they were really little I would sneak my hand under the pillow and hold on to one of their little fingers for as long as they would let me. I'm sure I complained plenty the next day and I know Jeffrey and I spent too much time arguing about it, but sooner or later each boy spent less and less time between us. I guess now that I think about it, it's been at least a few years since Andrew has slept in the middle, but until last night I had forgotten how much I missed it.

All three boys had their share of sleep challenged years, some definitely more than others, but the specifics will stay locked in the mother vault.  Sometimes stomach aches and sometime bad dreams mixed in with the basic "I can't sleep." Whatever the reason, moments after taking a pillow in the center, they would sleep peacefully until morning (or until one of us couldn't sleep and would gently carry them back to their bed). I'm so grateful that I traded all those nights for the sweet memories bringing a smile to my face tonight. How is it that even though that phase ended so long ago, it wasn't until last night that I was struck with the reality that they didn't need "middle-of-the-night mommy" anymore.

I wonder if my Mom felt the same way when I stopped crying out her name in the middle of the night and crawling in between my parents after a bad dream or a stomach ache. I remember every second of my routine, I'd wake up scared, too scared to even get out of bed and walk down the hall to their room. I had a sing-song cry of "mommy, daddy" that I'd repeat over and over until someone came to get me. Usually they'd offer a glass of water or rub my back as an incentive to see if I'd stay in my own bed, but I was not easily convinced, there was only one place I wanted to be. Just like my boys, I fell happily back to sleep between the warm bodies of my parents. I'm sure it stopped on its own eventually, or more than likely when I got my own phone line and would stay up late and talk under the covers. But, even as a grown up I've spent a few nights sleeping happily next to my mother, that must be a girl thing. 

I don't know what it is about that feeling, but it is without a doubt what I miss most now that the boys are all grown.  In my bed or in my arms, the synchronicity of our breathing and the feeling of their skin touching mine; it was intoxicating and I was addicted. I let countless loads of laundry go undone and too many dishes in the sink, just to steal a few minutes lying next to them. If I had known how quickly it would all be gone, I would have done it even more. When I listen to the tired young moms still in the middle of the "middle-of-the-night years" I always try and console them with the knowledge that this too will pass. Now, as the experienced mom imparting the wisdom of time, I tell the sleepy parents that sooner than you think that screaming toddler will put themselves to sleep and stay that way long after you do. Not sure I would have believed me either when every night is a struggle of getting them to sleep and staying that way; back then the light at the end of that tunnel seemed far, far away.

Tonight, around 11 or so, Andrew will walk down the hall and kiss us goodnight; thankfully that still happens with all 3. He doesn't need me to take him to bed, or tuck him in, or turn off the light. He'll set his own alarm and we will meet again at the island at 6:45 am before he leaves for school. I guess that means I did what I was supposed to do; he's an independent, young man who doesn't need his mommy as much as he used to. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite ready to give up that role.