The fan sent a gentle breeze over us, lifting the perfectly straight golden locks of my firstborn off of her face. I snuggled in next to her as she drifted off to sleep, one Cinderella-nightgown clad arm around me.
I marveled at the sweet and angelic face I had somehow borne into this world, still finding the baby features that I had spent hours staring at, kissing, loving.
As light from the moon rose high in the sky, spilling in through the gingham purple curtains I had so carefully chosen, I counted my blessings in the gift of my sweet little girl.
Gone were the trials and tribulations of the day. Gone were the time-outs and tantrums. Gone were my tiredness, my guilt when I couldn’t run after her or hold like I used to.
In their place, we lay together, suspended in a magical place where time seemed to still. Where I could memorize every feature of the beautiful girl by my side, the one who laughed at my silly songs and begged me for a purple fish.
I watched as slowly, her eyes closed and her breathing grew steady and even. I watched her chest, the blue frills of the nightgown that had once been so big on her, rose and fell, a miracle with every breath. I thanked God for the fact that my baby was able to drift off to sleep next to her mother, safe and secure in the knowledge that she was loved.
I willed myself to memorize this moment.
This very moment. The way her hand felt in mine. The soft and delicate features of her face in the moonlight. The sweet and simple peace that filled my heart.
And then, as I watched my baby sleep, like so many mothers have done before me, I watched as her hand rose up in sleep…
And she picked her nose.
And tried to eat it.
Ah yes, the sweet joys of motherhood.
Perhaps that’s one I’ll leave out of the memory book. Just this once.