as some of you may know, we have coslept for our charlie boy’s 3+ years of life. it is a decision that has been deeply right for us, sacrificed throat kicks and toddler sleeping positions and all. (and hear me when i say a deep, deep no judgement where parenting decisions are concerned. fed is best. slept is best. this is what has worked for me and mine.) when we get ready for bed, i watch my boy transition from playing happily or melting down to feeling loved and safe and sleepy and sleeping. it is a gift that i didn’t prepare for as a mama, and it has helped begin to heal some sleep anxiety i’ve carried my entire life.
some nights i make it to bed after he’s already asleep. (aka i’m hiding out because I NEED A MINUTE NO ONE TALK TO ME I LOVE YOU GO SOMEWHERE ELSE YES THANKS FOR THE HUG OH YES AND THE KISS WAIT DONT LICK MY FOREHEAD SON) some nights we stay up talking about what we’d like to bake next (read: overbake next. mama is not a baker.) or reaffirming that my favorite color is still purple. i’m about 50/50 on when i like to crawl into bed the most. but, oh, there’s a sweetness in both. when he’s already out, 9 times out of 10, i can wait for the moment he realizes i am there. i honestly don’t know if it’s a scent or a movement or a sound, but his whole body shifts to be near me. he reaches his growing arms to hold mine and inches his way over. he twists his body to be closer. he nuzzles his chin until he’s found my shoulder. and he will do it over and over again as he needs to. (even on the nights where i just so do not want to be touched or looked at or kicked or bulldog snored at. if we’re keeping it real, i just absolutely have to geeeeeeently press him towards his dad eventually.)
we will randomly have a very long night and late morning, and those are a gift and trial all of their own accord. but some nights are gloriously filled with hours of consecutive sleep i forgot existed the first 2.5 years. our sleeping night almost always revolve around the blind trust that he’s with his people, he’s safe, he’s loved, and he can ask for what he needs and receive it. he can demand to be loved with that sweet tipped up nuzzling chin.
johnboy and i have a joke where we’ll say, (in our best preacher voice, o’course.) “now isn’t that just like God?”
but, really, isn’t it?
i want my relationship with my Heavenly Father to resemble what my boy needs in me while he sleeps. i want to reach with my eyes closed towards Him because He’s home and He’s good and He’s here and He’s MINE. i know Him. i don’t have to wonder for one minute if it’s really Him because i know His arms and Hands and the feeling when He’s close. i know what it feels like to be safely held and loved while i receive what i need to face another day. i want to trust Him the way my sleeping boy trusts me.
i know what i feel when i am relying on Christ to supply my needs. i know that dependence and mercy and ever-flowing grace in my daily life. that is Charlie during the day. but when life is good and everything is going according to my plan, (and all my control panels are working in overdrive) that’s when i lose that sweet time of connection with my Father. that’s when i want to deeply rest and recharge like my baby can.
charlie doesn’t sleep with one eye open or question my intention when i get in bed. he knows the safest place he could be is close to the ones that know him the best. he doesn’t have to ask or wonder if he’s worthy of it. heck, he doesn’t even open his eyes to make sure of anything. he knows it’s us, and we know it’s him. and all is right in our world.
i want that, too.