Baby girl’s eyes are too big for her face and the world and I can’t wait for sleep to find her to kiss those shut black and long lashed eyelids.
I find myself dosing off and from upstairs I hear the stool scraping against the stone kitchen floor and then a bang as it smacks into the island.I take a deep breath as my youngest dissenter folds her pint-sized body over the counter top on her tippy toes and hones in on her prey. That night it was two tangerines just the right size to fit in each of her two palms.Thank goodness for only two hands or else, the midnight snack would have lasted longer.Bleary eyed, I watched as she meticulously pealed the prized fruit. I had always thought it prudent to keep fruit in plain sight for a quick impulsive snack and not hidden in the refrigerator, but I may change my philosophy at least until we get this sleep routine down.Her eyes are like black stars seeing more than I ever will within the length of the day, and I wonder why her energy doesn’t wear thin, but instead succumbs to the circadian rhythm of a teenager.
Back into our bed for the night time tangle, at least now we know when the urge to dash will resurface. While the moon washes the world with its milky light, my nocturnal and feral baby bear craves even more frolicking. I glimpse at the moon with its troubled smile, or is it my nighttime reflection I see from the glass? A noble, calm and guided light streaming through the window, I bet the celestial ceiling from her room looks remarkable with this light. If only she had the same thought. If only my little bear was diurnal.