Be With Me

Last night I told Jason, "I feel like I have a parenting secret."

No, the Bean doesn't sleep through the night.  Some nights she sleeps longer in her crib than others, but she always wakes up after a few hours and cries for me, wanting me to pick her up and feed her.  And then she doesn't want to be set back down in her crib; she wails like a little door alarm if I try to settle her back in the crib.

So I don't -- I snuggle her close and we both go back to sleep.

And while, some nights, I still want to sleep on my stomach and have blood circulating to my arm, mostly I love it.  I'll be a little sad when she doesn't want to spend every night cuddled up against me.


She's seven months old going on about one and a half, full of confident tenacity and big opinions.  She's easily delighted -- cheerios, her sippy cup, a bookshelf, successfully pulling herself to stand, hearing her name, seeing a familiar face coming in when we arrive to get her from her nap, hearing the Pangolin song.

But more than anything, and always, she wants to be with us.  She wants our attention.  She sneaks glances at us to make sure that we're watching her, whether she's showing off new skills or eating and falling asleep.  She squawks and cries Ammammammm! and coos and grabs our knees and shirts, blows raspberries on us.

Whatever she feels -- rage, joy, pride, fear -- she just wants to know that we're with her.  

And it delights me.

So I think about God and my own bent to think that I always need to be doing things.  That I should not generally be a mess when I show up to talk to Him.  

But maybe...

Maybe I'm learning from my daughter's utter confidence that the best thing is just being together.


 

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