Skip to main content

Late Night Wake Ups

Most of my friends have their babies on well-regulated nighttime sleep schedules.  Felicity on the other hand has yet to attain that accomplishment. Mostly, because of the ease of slipping her into bed with me for a nighttime snack as opposed to listening to her very opinionated and long-winded protest that getting out of her crib is really the best plan, is just easier with a one-bedroom house.

And there is something sweet about it. Something sweet in knowing that when she wakes up in the night, I can comfort her. All to soon, she will not need her nighttime snacks. The little face, which nuzzles down next to me won’t need literal nourishment from me any longer. All ready she is three times the size of the little, bitty girl that I met eight months ago. Combing back her hair and cuddling with her is precious. 

These late night wake-ups make me reflect on a couple of different things within the light of day. First, the picture of a mamma feeding a baby makes me think how parents in one sense always need to feed their children. Their kids don’t just need physical food, but they need emotional and spiritual nutrients as well. It impresses upon me the seriousness and the grace from God that we need in order to feed our children. Secondly, a line from a Tennyson poem keeps going through my head. “No language but a cry.” Though the context of the poem doesn’t make the application I am currently making, the line reminds me that for a baby, crying is her language. I want to answer her cries. Yet that desire is contrasted with another desire. As she gets older and gains more language, as I have seen with many an almost two year-old, the cries become tantrums railing against the rules set by mamas everywhere. How does one answer the real cries while training and directing the other cries? Mothers everywhere need wisdom.

Am I indulging her cries in these late night wake ups? Maybe. Is it ok to bring her to bed? Yes, for now. 


God, grant us and parents everywhere the wisdom and the strength to parent our children well. Feed us, so that we can feed them.    

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Good Friday Reflections

Tonight, squished between my eldest two children, I read bedtime stories on my big bed—a move we made because my pregnant body filled up the whole toddler bed leaving no room for my story-ready children. We started with a book on friendship told from the perspective of a shy chipmunk who didn’t want to leave his mommy. Then we moved on to a story about Peteriffic building a block tower high into the sky. We finished with our Bible reading and knowing that we are in Holy Week I then showed my kids pictures of the Lord’s Supper and Good Friday. I told them that Jesus died so that everyone could be raised from the dead, and then, “Boom.” I was right in the middle of a conversation I wasn’t expecting to have on this ordinary bedtime, with late daylight streaming softly into my bedroom window.    “Will we all die, Mama?” asked Gabe, my three-year-old.    “Yes, but Jesus came so that we can live again. We will be raised from the dead—just like Him.”    “Will it be a long time until we get ra

Slaying Giants

Days like this begin when the night before I choose not to sleep, because I must read a few more lines from some news site or scroll one last time through the glowing screen of my iPhone instead of making good on my resolve to read quality literature and journal prior to bed. They continue when I wake up earlier than usual to teach, but finish teaching to realize that my children also went to bed later then they should. So now, everyone’s patience operates like feet hitting a wet spot on a wood floor. Bam. You loose traction. And first one then another is upset and done. That tantrum sparked another melt-down from someone else, and as I try to not join the melt-downs, and instead attempt to be the adult I hazard some words of explanation.  “Your choices impact us all.” I tell one of them.  My children’s choice do change the tenor of the room for good or for ill, but so do my choices. On days of this sort, where nothing is really wrong, other than a strong case of the grumpies, that ge

What to do in Case of Pandemic

“Gabe when you are afraid, will you trust in God?” the small, sincere voice of my daughter, Felicity, drifted to me as I sat on the couch, legs folded under me, looking at my creative writing projects. They were tucked in bed and should have been sleeping.  My son’s voice, largely ignoring Felicity, hummed and thrummed as he made his toy cars vroom along in what sounded like a vaguely destructive manner. Then her voice continued, singing the lyrics, “When I am afraid I will trust in you, I will trust in you, I will trust in you.”              The interchanged warmed my heart. Yes, I want them both to trust in God when they are afraid.  And I want to trust in God when I am afraid.  And I want someone to remind me to trust in God when I’m tempted not to trust in Him.  **             I began this post several weeks ago when ordinary life thrummed and hummed. As I revisit this story, ordinary has shifted and changed and the hum as I and many knew it has shifted. The