If you are one of the few people that regularly read my posts (Hi Mom!) you may have noticed I haven’t written anything in a while.  I’ve started a million times, yet all I could do was come up with was a bunch of complaints.  Complaints about the difficulties of co-parenting, the first holiday season post-divorce, the (non)sleeping habits of both my kids, the fact that I’ve been spending most of my free time on my couch stress eating and not running, my seasonal affective disorder in full swing, you name it.  But every time I started to write my woe-is-me post, it just didn’t feel right.  I don’t feel good when I’m feeling sorry for myself or complaining.  Don’t get me wrong, that doesn’t stop me (Mom, I’ll call you later), but still, I don’t need to be sharing that with you.  So I backspaced a lot and spent long periods of time staring at a blank screen.

 

Then, as it has been known to do, the Universe sent me a message that put everything in perspective.  And this is worth sharing with you.

 

The other night I was lying in my two and a half year old’s new big boy bed (that he loves showing off to everyone, but refuses to sleep in without me) trying desperately to get him to sleep.  I sang to him.  I rubbed his back.  I told him stories.  I begged and pleaded.  I was about to try standing on my head while juggling, when he said to me, “Mommy, be close.”  I replied, with all the patience I could muster, “Baby, I am close to you.  I am right next to you.”

 

“No Mommy, be close like this” and he pulled my face to his, so our noses were touching.  As soon as he did this, his body relaxed and his breathing steadied.  I opened my eyes and he was sound asleep.

 

Flashback two and a half years to when he was just days old.  I was lying with him on the couch, our noses touching.  I was blissfully breathing his in newness, intoxicated by his scent and the feel of his little nose against mine.  I whispered to his sleepy face, “I love you so much baby, do you know that?  Will you remember this?”

 

We did this every day.

 

Every time, I put my nose against his and told him how much I loved him. We did it for as long as I can remember, and to be honest, I don’t remember when we stopped.

 

My big boy remembered.

 

My big two and a half year old remembered our lazy afternoons, safe under a blanket, snow covering the outside world, when everything was quiet and time stood still.

 

When nothing existed except our love that was so new and yet so familiar.

 

Our souls finally exhaling that they were together again.

 

When we breathed each other in and were

 

completely

 

and

 

utterly

 

satiated.

 

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Every night since that first sleepless night in his new big boy bed, WE ARE CLOSE.

 

We breathe each other in and remember.

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I promise you this my sweet boy:  as long as I’m living, even when you are a great big man, we will be close.