At night though, when she's half-asleep, scared, and groggy, it's a whimper. A sad, rolling moan of a cry, it is totally unique to my daughter. There's no way I'd every, even woken from a deep sleep, mistake that sound for any other child.
Anna has nightmares. Sometimes I'd go so far as to call them night terrors, but mostly they are just aimless fears she doesn't remember upon opening her eyes, lingering only in a gut reaction against the shadows in the dark. She's been having them less and less lately, but last night they came back in full force.
At the first sound I always pop up out of bed, a reflex born from years of mom conditioning. Or, at least, I used to pop out of bed. Now I start to pop up, groan, then slowly lower my legs off the side of the mattress and sit for a few seconds until standing becomes a possibility. Kurt usually doesn't hear anything, so I give him a nasty look (it's not his fault, though, it's a chromosomal inadequacy of male hearing, poor guy), then waddle my way to her room.
And here's the other hurdle now. It's not just her room anymore. As she cries and gains volume, Silvia is sleeping right underneath her in the bunkbed. I stumble into the room, whisper, "Shhhhh, shhh, baby, it's ok, you need to be quiet, you'll wake Silvia...", go forward to pat her head, and lay my arm across her shoulders (remember, she's on the top bunk).
Then it hits me. I realize this is too much detail for some (Hi, Grandpa Bloom!!), so I will be brief. I have to use the bathroom. Immediately. The baby has settled in from my short walk down the hall and I have to go RIGHT NOW.
Poor Anna. She's in a foggy haze of fear and mommy's hopping around trying to soothe her while apologizing for having to run frantically from the room. "I'll be right back, I'll be fast, it's okay just... oh, please, wait!". Once that's all resolved, I return and cuddle Anna's head. I used to lay down next to her, but there's no chance of me climbing up top these days. The good thing is, she always calms down right away once I get there. The bad thing is, she needs me to stay until she falls asleep or the moaning cries start back up.
So from about 2:30 until 3:15 A.M. this morning, I rocked in the girls' chair while Anna drifted back off. Sitting in the glow from the nightlight, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. How many other nights did I sit in this chair, rocking with my children while the rest of the world slept? How many more nights do I now have to come?
As exhausted as I am today, there is still a certain satisfaction that comes from those private moments. My child, me and a quiet world wrapped in night. Tired? Yes. But very lucky, too.
