Bad dreams....

It started with the blood-curdling scream. Then, "MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA!" I dropped my book and ran to the bedroom where my oldest child had been quietly taking his nap only seconds before.

Heart racing, eyes scanning for trauma. A second to realize that his eyes are fluttering - not quite open. Deep breath. It's another dream.

Sometimes he has these wicked dreams. I don't know what happens in them - neither does he. But they sure scare him - and me as a result. But when he has them, he's inconsolable - not awake enough to be brought to reason. I used to try and cradle him in my arms, reassuring him that all was good. But this usually resulted in screaming and thrashing and those eyes staring wide with fear. Not exactly the result we are going for.

But I've found the solution. If I climb into bed with him, hold him in my arms, and rub his head and back, he eases back into safety and a deep sleep.

So today that's what I did. There we lay, curled into one another in his little toddler bed. My head on the pillow, nose buried in the dark curls, inhaling that sweet scent of swimming pool chlorine and baby sweat. His dark eyelashes fluttering on the pale cheek that is just now gaining a few adorably sprinkled freckles. Our bodies folded together like the origami version of comfort. And as I lay there, I couldn't help but think about this child, once contained in the confines of my belly, and how our bodies still fit just as well together. How our closeness brings us peace. How our deep breaths start to rise and fall together and the fear and tension has left his body. At peace again. And how I wish it could always be that easy. And how I know it won't.

So those minutes borrowed from moving the laundry or emptying the dishwasher will have to be made up later. Because when you can't take a picture of those moments you want to remember forever, you have to hold really still, wait a little longer, and make sure that you absorbed it into every cell of your being. And hold it there. For just as long as you can.