It’s 2 a.m. I would be asleep except for the foot in my back
that’s slowly moving me off the edge of my bed. I’m clinging to the edge of my
mattress, but losing ground. Sure he had a nightmare and I’m happy to comfort
him, but enough is enough! Somewhat annoyed, I reach back to move the intruding
appendage, and my hand closes around a rumply sock covering a perfectly toasty
set of three-year-old toes.
Suddenly, I’m taken back to another time when these toes in
my bed kept me awake. I can’t help but smile as I remember Christmas Eve when
these little piggies were only five months old. Grandma’s house definitely
wasn’t as warm of a climate as he was used to sleeping in. I couldn’t blame him
for fussing. I was frozen even snuggled up to my husband. So without question I
brought baby into bed with us, and then laid there not wanting to fall asleep. Enjoying the peaceful bliss of knowing my
whole little family was safe and snug in the same bed as me. Knowing there
would come a day when I would lay awake worrying about where he was, if he was
safe, if he was warm, I soaked up the image of his little sleeping face only
inches from mine.
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