My daughter woke me from a sound sleep last night. Her incessant slapping of my forehead could have meant anything from, "I'm thirsty" to "aliens have taken my brother". So, erring on the side of caution, I got up, felt her soft little hand grip my finger and let her lead me to the epicenter of the latest drama.
It was worse than I'd feared. Her stuffed puppy was MIA. ( That's 'missing in action' but that doesn't convey the sense of heightened drama I'm going for here.) I'm used to late-night scavenger hunts for the missing passy or thirst-quenching operation. This was a first. Never before had a dear stuffed animal gone missing on my watch. It was unacceptable. It was time to act. I began by going over a mental inventory of her room. The endless expanse of pink, fluffy cuteness that comprised her bed was the most obvious choice to begin conducting operations. But also the most daunting. A puppy could get lost in all that quilted, flowery sweetness. I went in.
The mission was met with a high degree of success and in short order, harmony was restored to her world. I tucked her in and snuggled beside her for a few minutes until she fell asleep. I must have dozed off as well. When I woke up, it was much later and everything hurt from sleeping in a position that was not meant to be maintained by someone of my size on a bed of that size. I opened my eyes to see the most beautiful sight. Her button nose was but a few inches from my own honker. I could hear her gentle, regular breathing. The constant slight motion of the passy in her mouth. And those tremendous, bright eyes I fall in love with every time she looks at me were closed so lightly. I don't know how long I lay there just watching her sleep. My face did start to hurt more than a little from all the smiling I'd been doing in the interim. I knew even then that I was in the midst of those moments I'd remember forever. Not even strapped to a chair, slinging poop at unsuspecting nursing students engaged in their clinicals, forty years hence, could have changed one detail of the memory being made right then. And I was so grateful.
Children are the greatest gift we could ever know. They are also the greatest cause of hair loss, ulcers, drinking to excess and nervous breakdowns, I imagine. But after the toothpaste is scraped off the ceiling; the peanut butter cookie vacuumed from the DVD player and the million other sundry happenings that make up the day-to-day excitement of being a parent, little moments like watching your child sleep, make it all worthwhile. This is not to be confused with "making it all better." Not by any means. Do you know how long it takes to get AIM toothpaste our of the bathroom rug and lid fuzzy? That shit has staying power! And the whole minty-fresh bubble gum smell? What cretin came up with that one, I ask?
So the next time your son clogs the toilet with an entire roll of toilet paper and the shower curtain for good measure, just remember the time he told you that seeing you was the best part of his day. THEN you can proceed to lose your nut and threaten to make him crap in the woods until he's twenty-five. No, there is nothing so fulfilling as being a parent. Nothing I know can has ever brought such satisfaction and meaning to my life. I am forever grateful for my amazing children. Dylan and Piper, daddy loves you so much. Now get that crayon out of your nose and stop wiping your little bare hiney on the sofa arm and get in the bathtub this instant!
Semper Fi
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