Remodeling This Life

I wake up early enough that it is still completely dark out. My heart racing from a bad dream, I hear a dog barking next door.

My eyes begin to adjust and I see that during the night, my children’s tiny bodies made their way into my bed. They’re both sleeping sideways with their feet in each other’s faces, knees bent awkwardly and arms flung over their heads.

The mere motion of my eyes opening triggers a sixth sense in them and they begin to stir. Not enough to wake up but enough to move around and snuggle closer to the comfort of mom’s awakened arms.

I lay there, breathing in the moment, knowing it would be gone all too fast. Listening to tiny hearts beating, and slow, effortless breaths coming from them, I want the light to stay away longer. Choosing to just skip whatever chaos the day is going to bring, I would much rather lay quietly with my two not-so-babies-anymore. I want to memorize how they look, how they smell, what expressions they wear in their sleep, what tiny noises they make when they move, and giggle when their legs occasionally kick out and get me right in the gut.

I want to take notes, pictures, and videos just so I can know that moments like this will always be with me. The moment will soon come when the light of the day streams in the windows, eyes begin to flutter open and yawns make their tiny faces crooked while they extend their arms and legs in full body stretches.

Soon there will be loud requests for heart shaped pancakes and glasses of milk. Feet will pound the tile floors while I cook and toys will erupt from their tidy homes and spew out across the house. The chaos will begin again.

By mid-morning when I’ve heard a million questions, squeals and shouts in glee, and requests for just one more push on the swing, I will be glad that I took a few moments to lay in the quiet and appreciate the stillness of a Saturday morning.