For the third time I peek my head into the boys’ room. For the third time I bring the covers back up over their little bodies. For the third time I listen to their steady breathing. For the third time I return to my room and climb into my own bed and pull up my own sheets.
The last time I slept in this bed, Eli was two months shy of arriving. Logan was still sleeping in a crib. C was about to finish up at Benning. It was winter – a week from Christmas. And not this past Christmas but the one before. The last time I slept in this bed he was very much here.
I don’t like our bedroom furniture (it’s okay – my husband knows). It’s very nice, very good furniture, but it was my give. I don’t like hard, modern lines – nor do I like soft mattresses – but C does and he needs better sleep in a shorter period of time so I gave in when it came to each of these pieces.
It has been a lifetime since I last saw them. It feels strange to be in this new room, surrounded by things that are so very much him and for him to not be here. I keep rolling because I keep sinking into this far-too-soft-for-me-mattress. When he is here I don’t sink – his arms hold me up. And, Lord, do I miss him holding me.
It’s so quiet.
It’s much too quiet.
I just want to hear him breathe.