The Days Are Long, The Years Are Short

Early this morning, just as sunlight was peeking out beneath the bedroom curtains, I woke to the sound of whispers and sobs. Groggy from sleep, I lifted my head, turned my ears to the sound and listened quietly. I heard Ethan sniffle as he asked The Husband, "Where is Mommy?"

The whisperings continued, and little while later, I felt my secondborn crawl his way past The Husband and stuff himself under the covers between us. Hugging me tightly, he gripped on to me like his life depended on it. I turned to The Husband. Confused. "Cho ni?" I asked, meaning, "What's the matter?" in Teochew. "He thought you died," The Husband explained in whisper. 

😳 Oh. 😔

So there we lay in the semi-darkness, JJ and I.
Him calling out to me every once in a while,
even though I was literally right there in his arms.

"Mommy?"

"Mmm..."

"Mommy."

"Yes?"

"Mommyyyy..."

"I'm here..."

He hugged and he snuggled, and he sniffled between sobs. He played with my hair, combing it over and over, somehow finding comfort in the feeling of the strands running through his fingers. He hadn't done that in a long while. But he used to... when he was little. 

And in that moment, it all came back to me. The memories.

Those long nights of feeling trapped under the weight of motherhood – motherhood dressed up as a little boy in a tiny body, curled up beside me or tiarap-ed on top of me, with tiny hands that brushed my hair, held my face, or pinched my tummy, and wouldn’t let go until sleep finally came for him.

How true the saying:

The days are long, but the years are short. 

In the thick of life with little ones, when the boys were young and needy, so very small and oh-so-clingy, I thought the days would never end. Bedtimes never came soon enough. And while we didn’t exactly rush through them, I must admit, that by nightfall, I was often so peopled out and touched out that the thought of clingy bedtimes often felt like... a lot.

It's funny how I now look back on

those difficult days with fondness. 

Oh, how perspective changes

with the passing of time. 

Yet now, even with new eyes,

it's impossible turning back the clock. 😔

So, back to the story at hand... We snuggled until morning came too soon, suspended in that quiet abyss between wake and sleep. I didn't want that moment to end. I hugged him, kissed his teary cheeks and breathed in his familiar scent, now tinged with the faint musk of pre-teen boyhood.

That one hour with him in my arms, sniffling on and off, brought me right back to the days when comforting a clingy child once felt like a chore. Only today, it felt like the greatest blessing of my life. How perception shifts when you lose what you once had. Now, I miss that closeness I had with my boys more than ever. And it feels a little sad that it took a bad dream for me to get a taste of it again. 😔