Night time. The redeemer.
My children are finally asleep and in the soft space between their slowed breath, I can love them without reserve.
Without annoyance, irritation, anger, frustration or barely contained rage.
Without the demands to hurry up or quieten down.
Just the rise and fall of their little chests, the sweet resignation of their faces to sleep.
In these quiet moments, in the stillness, by the soft light of a nightlight plugged into the wall, I lean in and whisper in their ears, “Mummy loves you so much. You are so precious to me.”
Apparently there is no truth to sleep-learning – you won’t wake knowing a new language if you listen to a recording in French each night while you slumber. And yet I whisper my love, needing desperately to believe that no matter the shouting and upset that went on that day, I hope they will HEAR that I adore them beyond their wildest imaginations. I hope I can undo all the things I got wrong.
I so often get things wrong. People say that’s just parenting and that you can’t always get everything right.
So I will keep whispering my love. And say it, too, in the daylight hours when they are wide awake and pushing me away in annoyance because I have kissed them far too many times.
I will keep making up for the fact that I am only human.
And I will pray that this is enough.
I wasn’t brave enough to go and take a photo of J. Figured the flash would wake him!