No Bed Bugs Here

It's 8:14 p.m. on Sunday, and I am sitting, exhausted already, on Lily's bed, with an even more exhausted Lily breathing deeply three feet away. I could escape now, but for some odd reason I don't. "Odd" may be a bit of an understatement, since solitude is something I've craved nearly all day, but it's not once presented itself. No, it's been a day that's been filled with even more "Momma, momma, momma"s than usual. "Do this, do that, I want this, I need that." Silence, even momentary, seems a long forgotten memory. I am ever so grateful it's a weekend and Peter's not on call, and he's handled more than his share of the umpteen requests this day. But now I sit beside her, oh so very aware that her body is just recharging itself for another round of "Pummel the Parents" tomorrow. But she's so still right now; the only movement is that of her belly rising and falling with her breath. I'm happy that in spite of all the energy and emotion she exudes during the day, she can still find peace at night. She may be almost 5, but is sleeping the sleep of a baby, completely unemcumbered by what the world (...and I) throw at her. And that gives me peace as well. So I think I'll stay here and soak it all in a while longer.