They were crying out all night, random phrases like "Truck!" and "Boat!" then it just became "Mommy mommy mommy mommy..." until I came into their darkness and laid down with them under their blanket. My legs folded up in the too small pushed together toddler beds, a boy on each side.
Owen starts and shifts, saying "Me (garble) me (garble) me flower". Quiet. Then "No Daddy me do it, me do it." They must dream now, living in that other world of make believe and circumstance when eyes close. Maybe that is why they cry out.
I once yearned for the night when they would no longer need me, when sleep would be mine. And most nights it does belong to me, in my bed with my husband. I sometimes feel bereft when I wake from a full night sleep, unsure of where I am.
Now, in those rare hours when we lay warm and tangled in blankies, foreheads touching for a moment, I feel our souls meet. The knowing of them is beyond precious, beyond privilege. It extends into Pure Love.