Why Watching a Sleeping Toddler Never Gets Old

Photo credit: Meredith Carroll
Le sigh.

I could stare at my little Peony, 1, all day long. All. Day. Long.

At nearly 18 months old, she has a wicked sense of humor that’s only rivaled by her great urge to cuddle up on my lap and chest as often as we get the chance.

During her waking hours she creates little games at every turn, engages in ones that others have created, sings songs and cheers for herself at her smallest accomplishments. She’s an utter delight, even when she’s not, which is almost never.

When she’s at her best, though, as far as I’m concerned, is when she’s asleep. Not because it gives me a chance to rest. But more because it gives me a chance to miss her and reflect on her deliciousness.

I go into her room a few times a night and just stare and marvel about the magically precious gift in my life.

When her butt is sticking straight through to the sky and she’s curled up like she’s not 540 days removed from my womb but instead still packed in there, when her lips are slightly parted and her breaths are more slow, deliberate and noisy, when she stirs after I stroke her cheek or hair for the umpteenth time — it’s all the icing on my day. Every. Single. Day.

It’s knowing she’s content, safe, warm and loved. It’s knowing she’s blissfully cozy in her crib. It’s knowing that she has only good things to dream about. It’s knowing that when she wakes up she’ll have nothing but a silly grin splashed across her face because she’ll be unimaginably ecstatic to see me and my husband. It’s knowing another day of laughing and hugging and tickling will start all over again.

How could any of that ever get old?

Photo credit: Meredith Carroll

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