The Trespasser

I woke up on time this morning, but it took a lot of motivation to get myself out of bed. I was cuddled in the mass of blankets, and I felt my baby girl next to me. She has developed quite a bad habit of waking up during the night and sneaking into my bed. On one hand, I don’t like her in there. Ever since she was an infant, she has been an aggressive sleeper. She moves around a lot, she commands a lot of space, and she is completely unaware of the discomfort that it causes for the other person in the bed (which, of course, is me). However, on the other hand, this morning made me smile. I climbed out of bed to hit my snooze button, and when I crawled back in bed beside her, she reached for me. I felt her tiny, soft, warm hand reach for my arm, slide up to my shoulder, and cling to my neck. She was seeking comfort, and she easily found it. I smiled, and I said a silent prayer of thanks to God for giving me such an angel.

As I drove into work this morning, I thought back on the little scene from this morning. I was remembering how her hand felt on my skin, and how overwhelmed I felt by how much I love my little girl. Then, I realized that I’ve been on my own for 6 months. Beyond that, it’s been considerably longer (at least 2 years) since I had someone in my bed that I could reach to for comfort, knowing without a doubt that I was loved and cherished. I expected to feel sad, but I didn’t. I felt empowered. Six months ago, I didn’t feel like I would survive 6 DAYS on my own, let alone 6 weeks or 6 months. But I have. I’m a survivor, and I’m proud of that. And now, I need chocolate…