Tonight at bedtime I relaxed on my bed while the girls brushed their teeth, put on their pajamas and basically procrastinated the actual going to bed part.
Krystal came in and lay next to me on my bed.
“We don’t cuddle anymore, Mommy,” she said.
“I miss cuddling with you,” I said. And I realized it was true. She used to come into my bed early in the morning and we’d cuddle before getting up.
Then Belle came along, and our routine changed. Belle has one speed and it is HIGH. She is awake before anyone else in the house, and has strict instructions on clock-reading so she doesn’t start everyone’s day before a decent hour. Each morning — weekday, weekend, holiday, it doesn’t matter — she bursts into my room, often startling the dogs into a frightened bark, and always setting my own heart a-jack-hammering. I don’t need an alarm clock, I have Belle.
Belle is not a cuddler. She is a bouncer, a mover, a kicker – a tornado. There is no relaxing in bed once she has arrived. So she and I usually get up and take the dogs out, feeding them and doing any little morning things we need to do. Krystal is still asleep, or pretending to be, at this point. Any time for cuddling has passed.
I miss cuddling with Krystal, and at age nine her cuddling days with mom are in their twilight, I fear. I miss the cuddling Belle and I have rarely done because she’s wired differently. I have a friend who predicts Belle will be the one tweezing my chin hairs from my nursing home. Maybe our cuddling days are still ahead of us then, roles reversed.