As She Lay Sleeping

Last week Ellie coughed in the night. All night actually for two weeks. It wasn't a new cold asserting itself over an old, it was the same lingering, malingering mucus.

I went in. Early? or Late? Depending on if you consider 3 am part of the night before.

I put her on the bed next to me and quasi-cuddled. I'm not a good cosleeper. I worry I'll suffocate her, I'll crush her, she'll roll, she'll stop breathing. I worry about any number of things but I worry too that my husband won't get his rest, and I worry about his heart. So I lay, half asleep, waking in increments, terrified that I have lost Ellie somehow in the bed.

Sometime in the wee morning hours I shifted. And she stirred. And rather then the little macaw cry of hers, the one she makes when startled at night, I felt two tiny hands reach out, and touch, each, the sides of my face.

During the day I will hold her face in two hands, like a grandmother. I do it often, but quietly. But never in passing. It's deliberate. I want her to feel the comfort of hands on her face. The deliberate touch that says "I've stopped moving. I see you. I love you."

To feel, in her sleep, her reaching out to me was...wonderous.
It was every mom email chain, every Hallmark moment.

My daughter will reach out for "Up-py", she'll touch me to get attention, to pull on my leg, she'll lay in my arms, sit on my lap, she'll hug and rest her head on my shoulder - but I hadn't yet, until this night, felt her deliberate caress.

I knew she knew me. She touched me with love, not motivated by need.

I've heard talk about the joy you have upon hearing first words, seeing first teeth, guiding first steps but how come no one ever tells you about the wonder of the first time your child touches you with pure affection.