A Rough Night
Me and Scrap went ’round and ’round a few times tonight. He’s just feeling every inch of his two years, and stretching those muscles as far as they will go.
“No!” was the operative word from my sweet, cherubic (not tonight he wasn’t) babe and our bedtime routine was less than dreamy.
He went to bed in tears, and I almost did the same.
For, it wasn’t much after he went down that I got some news that just cut me off at the knees. Nothing like the-world-is-coming-to-an-end, but enough for me to feel more than just a little blue.
When he was sound asleep, as I often do, I crept back in for that last sniff and embrace. And, as he sometimes does, he awoke enough to lock arms around my neck (leaving me no choice but to fall back into the rocker). I went gladly. I didn’t protest.
Despite our differences from just an hour before, and my own recent heart-ache, there we were.
He and me.
In the dark.
Both taking something from the other.
Me, the comfort of a warm body and unconditional love.
He, pretty much the same thing.
And the ache lifted, and the tears were forgotten, and everything once again was right with the world.
At least for the next five minutes.