Hug if by Night

When Kiernan makes a noise for the first time after he's truly fallen asleep, it's usually somewhere close to midnight, and it usually means it's time for his overnight bathroom break. We still assist him with this, though he's starting to do it on his own. There is something so wonderful about coaxing your sleeping child out of bed because you know his rhythms, shepherding him to the bathroom, and then steering him back to bed where he will dive under the covers, gather his most precious stuffed animals, and fall immediately back to sleep. I suppose we could have forced him to learn to do this on his own by now, but for a variety of reasons we have not. I could say it is because he hasn't been ready, but really it's because we haven't. This moment is too lovely, and we are both aware that it will disappear all too soon. In fact it is starting to, as he seems to rise and go on his own a little bit more frequently. Soon he won't need our help at all with this, and there will go another milestone.

Such is the plight of parents.

The other night when he stirred in the middle of the night Wendy and I were both home. We sprang into action, Wendy helping him rise out of bed and make his way to the bathroom. I stroked his hair as he walked by, saying something loving. He did his business and headed back out of the bathroom, stepping over the baby gate we have set up to keep the dog out of the cat's litter box. I stood against the wall a few feet away, facing him. As his second foot hit the carpet, his eyes still not fully open, he seemed about to stumble. I immediately leaned forward, opening my arms to catch him just in case. It turned out my help was unnecessary; he hadn't been close to stumbling. But without missing a beat he raised his arms and walked into mine, wrapping me in a sleepy hug. In the middle of the night, there in the hallway. I held him for a moment and then he released me, proceeding with sleep-heavy steps back into his room.

It's moments like that.