Today, the TV was on for a little bit too long.
Today, the two of us are comprised almost entirely of bread-based concoctions.
Today, more wees ended up on the floor than in the loo. And I didn’t do a good enough job of hiding my irritation.
Today, I apologized too much.
Today, you forgive too easily, as children often do.
But tonight, we lay in your too-small toddler bed hugging tightly in the dark.
After twenty minutes of chatter, it fell silent. But then, as always, you blurted out your closing statement for
the day. It usually involves Batman.
Tonight, however, you said “You are warm like summer, Mummy. You are mine very own hot water bottle.”
Minutes later, you fell heavily into a sweaty slumber, leaving me to soak in your words.
I gazed at you for a while. I hoped that if I stared at you long enough or hard enough, I might commit this version of you to memory. That I might preserve you in all your three-year-old cuteness.
And my tears fell. Part guilt for a rubbish day, part relief that your enduring memory of it is mummy feeling warm like summer.
And with these cuddles the day was saved, redeemed.
I was convinced in the early days that I had approached sleep all wrong, that I was doing you a disservice by not ‘teaching’ you to fall asleep by yourself.
But now, on the harder days, I am certain that this so-called bad habit of mine is the one thing that I have done right.