I'm still your mommy

It has been 4 days since little brother was born. The house is in upheaval, everything different then before, kind of chaotic.

Last night was the first night I put Juliet to bed since we became a family of 4.  She put her face right in front of mine, nearly touching noses, and feel asleep while I sang to her.  This is strange from a child who usually cries to sleep, no matter what you do to get her to sleepiness.

Tonight we started getting ready for bed.  First we read books.  I'm always amazed what Juliet remembers.  When I picked up Counting Kisses, she said, "my tired little baby, do you need a kiss?" (The first line of the book.)  When we got to prayer, we heard Baby Brother crying and Juliet said she wanted more coconut milk.  So we decided to get Juliet milk and give brother milk and then go back to bed.  While I nursed Jonah, Juliet climbed all over Daddy on the floor.  It was adorable and she seemed so happy.  I don't think I've seen them do that before.  And then I handed a sleeping Jonah off to Daddy and Juliet and I went back to her bed.  We prayed, thanking God for all the different animals he made that Juliet loves (sharks, whales, dolphins, bald eagles), and then we sang our songs.

When they were done, Juliet said, "I can't go to sleep."  This is fairly typical; going to sleep is generally hard for her.  I talked to her about things that make it hard for me to go to sleep - not wanting the day to be over, or having problems settling my mind and body.  She just repeated that she couldn't sleep.  She came to the end of the bed where I was sitting and laid on my lap, facing away, and I rocked her back and forth.  I imagined a boat rocking in the current.  And I thought about being her mom over the past two years.  I remembered laying in my bed with her, playing with our hands in the air, making them float down like leaves. About how we don't do that anymore and how I don't want to forget that, or forget any of it.  I realized I would never again be Just Her Mommy and it made me profoundly sad.  (I am postpartum, after all.)  And then she got up and went and sat in front of her pillow.  She asked for kisses (we do one for each cheek, one for each hand to hold for later, and one for the forehead for good dreams/thoughts).  I don't think she realized I was sad.  I'm pretty sure I was crying, but it was dark.  And after the kisses, she sweetly and matter-of-factly said, "Night Night Mommy," and that was that.  I said Night Night back and I left without her yelling, without tears.  Softly, sweetly. 

Suddenly, she seemed so grown up. 

And I loved her, then and now.