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Friday, May 13, 2011

Late Night Call to Duty

"Mamamommy"

Dear God in Heaven, please tell me that I did not just hear that. It's 2am. I'm sleepy. I don't want to take a trip to Anxietyville. Maybe he is dreaming and said it in his sleep. Maybe I'm dreaming and just thought that he said it...

"MAMAMOMMY! I WANT UPSTAIRS, PLEASE! I WANT WALK, PLEASE!!!"

Drat.

He's really saying it. Here we go again. With every fiber of my being, I really want to let out a string of profanity right now. Instead, I open my mouth and let out a cheerful, "Coming buddy! Mama's right here!" And I walk into his room to see him sitting straight up in his bed.

"I want holding your hand, please," he said.

Ugh. Gotta get our 2am fix of hand holding. His right hand cupped around my left hand. Thumbs must be in perfect position. If they aren't, we start all over. Sigh. This time it took us five tries to get it "right."

"Sit, please."

WAAAAHHHHHH! I don't want to sit! I want to go to bed!!

But, I sit, resigned to the fact that he is going through "something" right now and I simply must try to ride it out. Can he pick up on the fact that I don't want to be there? Probably. Does he understand WHY I don't want to be there? I don't know.

"It's night time, buddy," I offer. "People sleep at night."

He's staring at me.

"It's not time to sit and play. You should close your eyes and sleep!" I suggesed, fluffing his pillows. "Your bed is looking awfully comfy!" I sing.

More stares. My efforts aren't working, and I can't read eye language. He's looking at me as thought, surely, I can figure it out.

But, I can't! Who can? He's nearly ten! Something is weighing heavily on his mind, that's for sure. I throw out ideas, knowing that if I come close to the problem, he will repeat what I have just said.

"Are you scared?" "Did you miss mama while I was gone?" "Are you sad?"

My words just hang in the dark air. And, still, he stares. I am at a loss and resort to doing what I can do, and that is being a mom. It doesn't meet the need, but perhaps it softens the blow of the need not being met.

A fluffy pillow. Fresh sheets. Favorite bed toy. Blankies. All the night time essentials.

I start to sing a favored song only to hear, "All done!" after a couple measures.

Yeesh! I get the message.

Next, I try a verse of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star".

"Stop, please!" he politely demands.

Jeuvenille songs are out. Must think of something different that he won't stop. Something fresh...

"Saturday. In the park. I think it was the 4th of July..."

Yes, that was me. Old time "Chicago" actually just came out of my mouth when I asked my brain to find something "fresh".

By this time, it's 3am. What do you expect? I am a product of my upbringing. And, even funnier, still, is the fact that this was the one song that ended up settling him back to sleep.

I hope that he dreams of many happy days in the park.

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