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Sleepy Prayers

A small mewling breaks into my night’s sleep. Thankfully, I sleep lighter than was my wont growing up. If I roll over to steal a few more winks, the mewling turns into small cries and groggily I attempt to open my sleep soaked eyes.

Food. Felicity needs food. The thoughts fall through my brain.

Her little arms flail helplessly in her monkey bassinet and her tiny feet kick at her blanket. If her cries could be translated I’m sure they would consist in “Mommy, please pick me up. I’m hungry.” Or the imperative, “Feed me now!” Pulling myself up, I bend down and pick her up.  

The only light turned on is the light above the stove. It casts a faint glow into our bedroom. Holding her I take her to the front room and sit in the glider and rock. I’m sleepy, but I try to hold the moment— “Don’t blink it goes so fast,” people say. I’m trying not to blink, but my eyes are so sleepy.

“Let’s pray,” I tell her. Her lips smack and her eyes open and close. She doesn’t know what prayer is. Sometimes, I’m not sure if I know what prayer is—but we pray. It says, “If two or more are gathered in my name there I am in the midst of them.” I wonder if Felicity counts. And I decide she must count, because she is a person. We pray for daddy. We pray for friends. I pray for her. And I rock and offer up soft-voiced prayers.


They are my own mewlings and cries to God.

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