Midnight Snacks

 

Last night Jackson woke up crying at 3:30am. I can count on two fingers the number of times he has woken up in the middle of the night in the last year – it almost never happens (I know , I know- don't stab me). I quickly jumped out of bed and into his room, where I found him sitting in his crib.

“Mom?” he said with a froggy voice.

“Yeah, baby?” I responded.

“I need a snack, first.” He said.

So down we went to the dark kitchen, dimly lit only by a light on the fridge. For ten sweet minutes, he munched on a banana and drank milk, while we had a conversation. We talked about missing Colorado, about running on the treadmill, and other random thoughts that occurred to him in the wee hours of the morning.

And I savored. I savored the peaceful night, the moonlight defining his sweet face, and the fleeting baby he won’t be for much longer.

As I laid him back in his crib, I marveled at how lucky we are. At how amazing he is. And at the fact that I have never, in my life, enjoyed a middle-of-the-night wakeup call quite this much.

"Goodnight, baby."

"Night, Mama."

As I laid back down in my own bed, my breath caught for a moment, as I became painfully aware that he won’t be this little forever. He won’t need me to feed him midnight snacks forever. These moments, they fly by. And my heart ached for the little boy he won’t always be.

Everything’s a little harder to swallow when you’re alone in the tiny hours of the morning, though, right?