Essay #2: 10pm Check-In

Every evening, right around 10pm, I hear the soft patter of feet on my carpeted stairs. I turn as I see Amelia, usually clad in one of the giant t-shirts from my school that she wears as pajamas, enter the living room. She approaches with a faux appearance of timidity, her fingers on her lips as if nervous--as if I'm going to reprimand her for being up so late, though we both know I'm not--and shuffles over to me on the couch. There, she snuggles in deep, and I cover her with the blanket. I ask her about the book she's reading; she asks me about my book or the movie I'm watching. We talk about the upcoming day. She's childish and sweet, maybe even a little slap-happy given the hour. After five minutes, I kiss her on the head and tell her goodnight. She gets up, shuffles out of the room, and returns back up the stairs.

I'm not sure when the tradition started. Though for years we've put both girls to bed starting at 8:30pm and are done reading to them by 9:15, Amelia had trouble falling asleep, so she'd stay up after we left, reading one of her novels. When she still had trouble falling asleep, Jeremy suggested she listen to a podcast--for whatever reason, she's chosen "Who Was?", a short-lived children's trivia podcast about famous figures from history. She's listened to every episode more than a dozen times at this point. Amelia started coming downstairs every night when she was done reading--usually about 10pm--to ask Jeremy to start the podcast. Somehow that nightly request morphed into our five-minute snuggle ritual.

Jeremy's usually in the room, and he occasionally participates in our conversation, but more often than not, he plays around on his phone while Amelia and I gab. I've long safeguarded my personal time after the children go to bed, but I don't mind this intrusion. It's easy for Amelia and I to get into silly fights during the day, but this time is different. I'm not distracted by my to-do list; Amelia's not anxious about friends or perceived slights. 

Amelia likes snuggling at pretty much any time, but I'm most receptive to it at this hour. I'm cozy on the couch, she feels warm and, if she's just showered, her hair smells damp and flowery. Last night, when I told her it was bedtime, she turned and snuggled in even harder, burying herself under the blanket and into my stomach. I laughed at something she said, and she giggled when she felt my belly vibrate.

One of my favorite children's books, Uni the Unicorn, is about a unicorn hoping to meet a "real girl." The book describes all the things the unicorn imagines they'll do together. On one page the text reads simply, "Other times, they would just sit quietly and talk about important things."

I know these times are precious--and fleeting. I appreciate that, right now, Amelia still longs to snuggle and "talk about important things" with her mom. So, last night, like Uni, I cherished my "strong smart wonderful magical" little girl.