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Sabrina and I were sleeping together in Mama's bed this morning (as we nearly always do when Daddy's on a trip). We both have colds and have slept in late. I could have gone on sleeping as I was awake often during the night making sure she was covered up. To be honest, I've only slept completely through the night once since Sabrina was born. Getting up to check on her and cover her is a standard, routine procedure. I wish it was for Daddies too, but they seem to have missed that gene and sleep unbothered, blissfully unconcerned about little arms, legs and feet that might be cold. As Sabrina nudges and nags me awake with comments of "What are we doing today?" "Mama, I'm hungry." and "Get up, it's daytime." I reluctantly pull myself into a sitting position on the side of the bed. Sabrina, seeing me in motion, automatically aligns herself into position too - right up into my lap. I sit holding her for a moment thinking of various destinations I'm heading to: the coffee pot, the trash needs to be taken out as it's trash day, I want to start the laundry, etc. Meanwhile, Sabrina settles in for a nice, long snuggle. I realize she has reached her "destination": Mama's lap. I cuddle my daughter, rocking her back and forth making all the same ridiculous snuggle noises I've made to her since the first few moments I looked into her eyes when I gave birth to her - her lifelong history of stupid Mama sounds which bring familiar comfort both to her and to me. I make myself sit, and give her this time. Obviously, the highest priority for her morning. Without these moments, the day just wouldn't be "right" for her. I continue to sit when she commands "stay still like a statue!" (A phrase recently learned from a childrens' game.) She goes to retrieve her stuffed dog and favorite pillow, bringing them with her to "feather her nest" a bit more. I patiently sit and rock her, suddenly remembering my childhood. Picturing coming home from school with the phrase "Mom?" coming out of my mouth before the door had even slammed. If Mom wasn't there, what was the point of being home? Mom was "home." So I spend a few more minutes than I normally would snuggling, rocking, murmuring before I ring the release bell with "Want to watch cartoons?" And then she's off - off to conquer the world. And I've done the most important thing I could have done all day. Dear Father, Thank you for being "home" to me and never too busy for a nice, long snuggle. Without it, some days my world just wouldn't seem "right."
Article Source: http://christian-topics.info
Shari Weigerstorfer is a free-lance Christian writer, native to the West Coast of America. When not indulging in her passion for travel, she writes from her home in Switzerland. Other articles by Shari can be found on her site at Faithwriters.com.
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