I could hear his footsteps and his breath as he entered our room.
His little boys socks, scooting, “swish, swish” as he approached my side of the bed.
I blearily looked at the bright red digital numbers on the opposite night table
They screamed “2:34!!!!” at me.
If I had still been up and awake it would be WAY too late. If I was to get up now, it would be WAY too early.
It’s what many call “the middle of the night”.
The time when day and night are mixing perfectly together with all their various colors of lights and darks, like a child who has mixed each and every hue of the water colors in front of them, on one piece of paper.
To make black.
There was no light coming through the window.
I fumbled for my glasses so that I could see.
But I didn’t find them.
Could you put these back on? he asked.
I helped him just by touch and then he went back to bed.
But just as I’d had a hard time falling asleep in the first place, I had a hard time again.
The simple act of helping him with his little boy pajamas re-ignited my over-tired brain.
I need to learn to meditate I thought. To calm my mind.
But who are we kidding. As long as someone needs help with a pull-up in the middle of the night…
that probably won’t happen.
I realize this post is somewhat similar to one I posted last week at this time but this was in my drafts and pretty much ready to publish so I just clicked “publish”. And well, obviously, this is on the brain a lot. Sorry if I sound like a “broken record”.