Some nights, bedtime doesn’t seem to hit my home fast enough. The chaos of the day makes the hands of the clock slow to snail speed. But as soon as my babies are tucked in their beds, I miss them terribly, and the need to be with them is too much to pass up. 

So I scoop them up just to be with them a little longer. I pick my sleeping babies up out of their beds just to hold them. Sometimes I just need to rock them a little longer. Sometimes I just need to snuggle them a little more. Sometimes I need them, even when they don’t need me. 

I have such sweet memories of rocking each of my boys in the dark, quiet space of their nursery. With three boys in my house, quiet is a rarity, but at night, the only sounds in the house are coming from the white noise sound machine. As soon as I pick up my sleeping babies, the stress of the day melts away. I forget all the spills, the fits, and the tears. It’s just me and my baby. Our special time. 

So I’ll hold them as long as they will let me. 

They each fit so perfectly on my chest. Their sweet little head has a familiar smell. They each found their perfect spot nestled under my chin. I know each of them uniquely. Better than anyone on this planet. 

I know that one liked to turn his head to the right so he could suck his two fingers and grab a certain ear. I know that the other liked to hold onto my hair so I’d stretch my neck down to meet his little hand. I know that the other liked to be wrapped up in his soft, fuzzy blanket and could drift off to sleep burying his face in my neck. They all found comfort in me. 

I know that one day, I won’t be able to lift them out of bed. That my small frame will soon buckle at the weight of their growing little bodies. So I treasure this time I get to hold them and rock them while they sleep. In my years as a mama, I know that it’s true that the days are long but the years are short. They’ve flown right on by, and very quickly they don’t fit in my arms like they once could. 

So I’ll hold them as long as they will let me. 

Each morning I tell them, I missed you while you were sleeping. And I really do. Sometimes so much so that I scoop up a baby sound asleep. 

Michelle Tate

A native Texan, born and raised, I married my college sweetheart, and now spend my days raising our three young boys. In another life, I was an elementary school teacher, before diving deep in my true passion for my own babies and writing. Follow me on Facebook at Raising Humble with Michelle Tate