When the boys were small, we did our fair share of co-sleeping.
Baby Jeffrey used to snuggle in between his father and me during the nights of frequent feedings. Without fail, before sunrise, Teddy toddled in—dragging silkie behind. He snuggled in beside, wedging small body into tiniest of places, grasping onto my hair with thumb in mouth.
Jeff–slept peacefully on his side of the bed as these two small creatures surrounded me–so close they become extensions of my body.
In those days of sleep deprivation, we would wake up in all manner of configurations. My neck and shoulders always stiff from wrapping arms around small packages–I remember despairing that I may never have another decent night’s sleep again.
This morning, at pre-dawn hour, telephone rings and I spring from sleep to rescue slumber of deep breathing boys.
It is the recorded message from the school board. School cancelled again.
Jeff gets up to take shower and I lie there–remembering–in lonely bed as snow falls softly down outside.
Cold feet pad in. Lifts covers and snuggles in close. As we lay there, me breathing deep the smell of morning on boy skin, he comes.
I turn head and see long legs standing, smiling crooked smile down on us.
He too climbs in beside.
This bed has gotten smaller.
Cold feet press against my skin and I catch my breath. They giggle and wiggle and chatter on in the dim of morning slowly coming on.
And here I am, surrounded by these not so small creatures again…these extensions of my heart.
As snow falls softly outside, I am keenly aware of the passing of time. These years have accumulated just as quietly as these gentle flakes falling down.
I drink deeply from this cup today.
And thank the Lord for these melting years.