This boy.

We should have named this boy Houdini.

All last week he escaped his crib in the pitch black dark of his bedroom, over the side rail and via the changing table, dropping fearless down to the floor. At 2am he greets me nose-to-nose, eyeball-to-eyeball over the edge of my bed.

It’s equal parts unsettling and adorable.

He stage-whispers, “Hi mama. I got out.”

So, in the now-familiar ritual I reach for his hand and we softly pad back through the blackness to his bed.

And the cycle begins again.

Transitioning him to a “big boy bed” this week has not helped. Rather it has racheted up the level of his nocturnal curiosity. He explores the bathroom and its contents. He clambers into bed with us. He wants to be held. He wants to talk.

He wants to sing.

Over and over he wants me to sing to him. The same lullaby over and over until it is barely a song anymore. It is the desperate, whispered plea of a mother who craves sleep more than anything else in the world. Sleep and release from the needs of another.

And when it’s over, when the whining and cajoling and huffing and puffing and tiny toenails digging into my side is over — when he falls asleep against his will — I am desperately relieved.

Because it means I am free.

Free to focus on my own needs. I water my hoarse throat, roll over and pass into oblivion under my blankets. And the only fleeting thought I give to him is the desperate hope that he doesn’t wake up again before my alarm clock.

My parenting is limited by my own limitations.

So, when I read this I was gob-smacked. Inconceivable exhaustion. Unrelatable joy.

God promises to love me all day,
sing songs all through the night!
~Psalm 42:5-7 (The Message)

He sings songs all through the night.

all though the night.

ALL. THROUGH. THE. NIGHT.

Over me.

On purpose.

While I am sleeping. He is not.

Because He is singing over me.

and

He is singing over you.

Just because He wants to.

All. Through. The. Night.

Chew that over and come back and tell me how it makes you feel. I hope it rocks your world like it rocked mine. Here’s to a weekend of rest, in every sense of the word.

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