Don’t Let Go

We’ve all been there. It’s close to 8pm. And you’re (still, one hour later) laying on your kids’ floor, holding their hand, singing them wheels on the bus for the trillionth time. 

Your delivery of hot food arrived promptly at 7pm, for the first time ever. And you’ve only eaten a salad – and a donut and a half – all day. 

All you want is for your kid to go the fuck to sleep. You think the moment has finally come! Their breath is a little heavier, their tiny hand a little limper. So you ever so delicately extract yourself – both from the light grasp – and their room, by army crawling out. You get to the door and slowly push it open only to inevitably hear “mommmmmmy don’t go.” Stay for just a couple of minutes. Rub my back for two more minutes. And hold my hand. And lay on the floor. And tuck me in. And I need one sip of milk. And I need to go to the potty. And I do want my baby dolls in bed (after they were both WWF style chucked from the bed not 4 minutes prior).

And you’re tired. And you’re hungry. And you haven’t sat down for one second all day. And you think about all the work you still have to do before the night is over. And you’re already contemplating the importance of brushing your teeth. But what can you do? So you take a deep breath, roll over and start all over again. 

And then finally – god knows how many minutes passed this time because you can’t even look at your phone for fear of even the night time dim light being exposed through the crib slats- they fall asleep. And their little face is turned towards you. And their sweet little heart shaped lips are pursed ever so slightly. Their breath smells of post-teeth-brushed milk. And you’re holding that little hand. And remembering the moment before when all you wanted was for them to let go, let you go. And you’re not hungry. And you’re not tired. And you can’t believe the night, their night, has ended. They succumbed to it. But you’re not ready to. 

And all you can think, while you remain on their floor still holding their hand – which feels like nothing less than a direct extension of their heart – though they’ve let go long ago is: don’t let go, don’t ever let go. 

Author: BexHasBabies

I’m a wife and mom of a four year old and a set of two-year-old twins, (in)fertility warrior, community builder, supporter, friend, connector, counselor, advocate, doula, coach, Licensed Master of Social Work based out of Manhattan. After embarking on my own path to becoming a mother, something in me shifted. My passions, my identity, my purpose all took on new meanings. I realized how lonely it can be for those without community, support, or someone in their corner to guide them. From that moment I realized I wanted to help women setting out on this chapter of their lives-- whether they are struggling with infertility (as I did), pregnancy challenges, miscarriage or infant loss, life as a new mom, or all the spaces in between. I am particularly passionate about normalizing infertility, postpartum challenges, pressures associated with social media, breastfeeding and everyday struggles balancing life with infants and toddlers. I aim to add humor and my own personal reality to these and other parenting topics with the hope that it makes women understand they are not alone. I am in the trenches with you and we’re all just doing our best. My best, your best, is good enough. Its-Conceivable.com @itsconceivablebyrebekahrosler View all posts by BexHasBabies