The door creaks open, but I don’t move and I don’t open my eyes. I hear her tiny footsteps skating across the old hardwood floor. I feel her warm breath on my neck and smell a hint of Bounce dryer sheets on her pajamas and shampoo from last night’s bath. She reaches out her finger, gently touching my cheek and sliding it down my face, repeating the motion a second and a third time. I squint through the darkness to see the bright blue numbers. 4:12 am. “Mommy. Hungry. Get up.” I pause to enjoy the early morning moment. I roll over, pull the covers up over me and smile, out of her view. She leans in and I whisper, “it’s still nighttime, go back to bed.” She touches my face again with her tiny little three-year-old fingers, trying for a response, but I ignore her. In defeat, she changes tactics, maneuvering herself into our bed. One leg up. Then the other. She tugs at the sheet and pulls herself up next to us, squirms a bit and then snuggles in beside me. “Love you mommy,” she says. I roll back over toward her, stare into her big, dark eyes and smile, knowing I won’t be going back to sleep. “I love you, too, Hannah.”
I came across this today while I was looking for something else. I think I wrote it in 2003 for a poetry class.
And now, 11 years later… pretty grown up and beautiful 🙂