Midnight Mothering

1:01 AM

The baby monitor crackles, then howls with a startling cry. I am jolted from sleep and immediately get up and go into the next room. There has been noise coming over the monitor off and on all night. Soft moaning and crying that is typical when she is teething, the cycle of waking and self-soothing and sleeping that, though often disturbing to my own sleep, I am used to. But this cry is the other. The one my heart immediately knows; "I am needed."

She is only half-awake herself, crying from a bad dream, or sore mouth, or tummy ache, I'm not sure. I lift her out of the crib, shhhing and cuddle her close. She continues to cry. I notice a very heavy, soggy feeling to her diaper. I think, "she had that second sippy cup just before bed," and lay her on the changing table. She does not want to go through this routine right now. Neither do I. But if I don't change her diaper now I will be changing sheets in the morning.

I try a current favorite, "Row, row, row your boat..." I warble in my sleep dulled voice. She doesn't stop howling for a second, doesn't join in with "rororororororororo." I stop singing. My mind can only focus on one task at this hour of the night. I reassure her we are almost done, almost done. I snap her onesie and put her foot back in her pajama leg. She still cries. I didn't put her foot all the way in the footie and as I move to the other leg she struggles to try to fit her foot through the elastic herself. She is getting so big! So independent, helping to dress and undress herself in small ways. I assist her with the neglected foot and zip her up. Still howling in that slightly paniced voice.

I settle her down with me in the rocking chair and she cuddles close but continues to cry. This is unusual. She is normally settled by now. I ask her, through her tears, does her tummy hurt. She stops all noise for a second, then says shakily, "no," and resumes. I ask, does her mouth hurt...sob, "no." We rock for a few second while my mind tries to remember what to do. I start with an old favorite, a cheerful little tune, "I love you, a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck..." She still cries through it, but, thankfully, she can't hold out much longer. She tearfully repeats "dodododododo" after me, as usual. This is my trick. She never could hold out from a good sing-along. We cycle through the tune a few more times and she faithfully chimes in at the end. And then she quiets, readjusts herself into my neck and returns to sleep. I rock her a few minutes more for good measure then softly lift her and carry her back to the crib. She gently stirs when I lay her down, but the sleep continues.

These are our moments together. I climb back in bed, feeling a bit smug. And kind of warm and fuzzy. The fuzz may just be sleep deprevation. I was able to offer a measure of comfort, motherly love and affection. I am a good mother. She will not always need me in that way. Someday my little tricks will be futile to stem the tears. She will be too big to cuddle up in my lap. She may choose someone else to provide that sense of "all is well." In fact, she must, at some point. She must grow up.

But not tonight. Tonight, I fit the bill. I'll take it.

****************************************
Edited at 7:30am to add:

4:12 AM

The wailing breaks out again. I get up and go see what's wrong, bleary and not-with-it. I remember little wet fingers stuffed in her mouth last night. Teething. My nemesis. I give her homeopathic teething tabs, little miracle pills. We rock, I sing. It's not working this time. She falls into a fitful sleep on my shoulder twice, but immediately cries out, in that loud, loud cry, as soon as I place her in the crib. Daddy comes in to see if he can help. But really, what can either of us do? I say, "please go turn on the heat, I'm freezing." There is a frost tonight. I bring her into bed with us. She cries. She kicks. She falls asleep for a few minutes. Daddy has to go downstairs, he can't sleep because he is in pain. As soon as he leaves the bed she sprawls. Then awakes again, and the loud crying begins.

4:23 AM
4:42 AM

The kicking, yelling, crying, squirmy-worminess continue. We both doze for a few minutes at a time. She cracks her hard little skull into my browbone. Ow.

5:27 AM

We both fall asleep, finally.

5:51 AM

My alarm begins to chirp. I quickly locate it, reaching gently over her to quiet it before it wakes her again. She is sound asleep. An angel. I get up and take a shower. Hello, Wednesday.
The smugness, it is gone. All I feel this morning is numb exhaustion.