A Crib of Her Own

Two nights before Clara Grace’s three-month birthday, her parents moved her permanent sleeping arrangement to her nursery crib. Clara Grace enjoyed one of her most peaceful slumbers to date, both her parents, however, hardly slept at all. While her Mommy anxiously analyzed each variation in the static from the baby monitor beside her pillow, the twelve feet across the living room grew into an enormous gulf lurking with drafts or pests or even greater dangers she didn’t want to consider. She let her arm fall from the bed and touch the satiny lining of the empty bassinette.

How quickly the days had gone of reaching out in the darkness and stroking her baby’s downy hair or letting Clara Grace hold on to her finger in one hand and her thumb in the other until she drifted off to sleep again. Certainly Clara Grace would want her own room eventually, but helping her take that first step away was difficult. Clara Grace’s Mommy lay on her back and let her mind drift sleeplessly over all the steps that would come in future years. Some were small and some were larger. Some were steps away in literal distance and others, the harder ones, were emotional steps apart. There would be her actual first step, which meant less time in Mommy’s arms, solid foods, Kindergarten, slumber parties, college, and a wedding. Pondering all these things brought a twinge of sadness, but also a spark of excitement.

Through the monitor, Clara Grace grunted in her sleep; her Mommy waited, but there was no crying. Proudly, she rolled over to try for a few hours of sleep herself, all the while picturing her daughter snuggled in the blanket she had knitted for her and surrounded by the bright fish, turtles, and octopus her Daddy had painted on the walls.