The MOST amazing thing happened to me last night. As a mom, we often operate unnoticed hoping our love will be enough even if they can’t see it. But, last night, I learned that Samantha sees it, as she remembered something from many years ago.
I wrote a little bit about it.
Our life together is loud. Work, homework, school, lunches, backpacks, permission slips, book reports, library days, gym days, art days, dinner, clean-up, gym time, me time, reading time, tubby time, and bedtime are the static. I search for a loose thread, something to pull on to slow the speed, but our daily tasks still orbit us with urgency.
Then last night, you are sick. Mommy, you beg, please put me to bed. Lay with me. Comfort me.
I pull the nest of your brown hair to my chest and hum a song I have hummed a million times when you were a baby, but haven’t done so in close to five years. The notes are automatic, like they’ve been buried inside of me just waiting to be uncovered. They cling together and form the melody of your infancy. Suddenly, with the glow of the nightlight holding us in the darkness, you begin to join me. Note for note, exactly right. This tune, this song, it is an echo of our life together.
“You know that song baby girl?” I ask welling with tears.
“Yes, you used to hum it while you rubbed our backs at night.”
With those words a bomb explodes inside of me as I remember the fleece of your onsie pajamas under the palm of my hand.
And all of the noise is gone.
And all that is left is a soft lullaby.