In the Middle of the Night

Before I go to sleep each night, I always creep into my daughter’s room. At almost 3 years old, I still rest my hand softly on her back to find the slow rise and fall of her dreaming breaths. I cover Ruby with a muslin blanket she’s had since birth. I let my eyes adjust to the dark and watch her for a minute. I close my eyes and remind myself to remember the feeling of this moment. It is finally quiet in my mind, ever so briefly, and I think that there is no greater pleasure than having the luxury of making ones own child warm in the night. After the horror of Sandy Hook, it feels like a luxury more than ever.