For Those 30 Minutes of Blissful Abandon
At the crack of dawn everyday, for little over a month I hear the patter of tiny feet down the hall. Moments later, I see faint light from the hall slip in through the ajar bedroom door and the silhouette of my little boy Nish at the doorjamb with his wild mop of curly hair standing against the light. He gently slides in. Like a cat his darting deep black eyes glow in the dark. He spends a few seconds deciding on which side of the bed to crawl in from. He mostly chooses the side his dad lies on. Roy mumbles in his sleep as he helps Nish climb across and snuggle in between us. He stretches out his hand and instinctively hugs his wife and son as we nuzzle closer to him. My boys immediately fall back to sleep and their rhythmic gentle snores sync in harmony. I sniffle Nish’s sour morning breath and my maternal heart shrugs with the familiar ache. I’m overwhelmed with strange euphoria. Nish has been an independent child mostly. Form day one he has slept all by himself in a crib and ever ...