Story by Cheryl Gottlieb Boxer
My son is currently asleep in his childhood bed. He just graduated from college and is preparing to move across the country. But before then I have him home for two weeks. And he’s asleep in his bed in his room in my home.
I’ll never grow tired of this sight. I think it’s the same for so many moms, whether our babies are literally babies, or the big kind who walk and talk and have SO MANY opinions.
When my babies were actual babies I used to spend the evening hours (and if I’m being honest, some afternoon hours) dreaming about their bedtime. I so desperately needed the kids asleep so I could clean the house, or take a shower, or eat a meal, or just BE.
You can’t just BE when babies need you. Yet once they were asleep in their cribs, then their toddler beds, and finally these grown-up twin beds, I would sneak back into their rooms to watch them sleep.
Even in my fatigue-fueled fog I somehow knew these days were nothing but a fleeting moment; hours, minutes, seconds moving at breakneck speed to a time when those twin beds would be perfectly made, and my children would be asleep in beds far away from this home.
So today I’m going to stand here just a moment longer and gaze at my sleeping baby who’s not a baby. Because if I’ve learned anything from this parenting gig it’s that you can’t slow down time. And because I’m not sure when this man-child of mine will be home again to fill this bed. And because I can never grow tired of this sight.