Spending time with Emily is, sometimes, like trying to grab a cloud. I reach out and put my arms around her, and where a moment ago she was solid there is only damp, cool, misty air escaping from between my fingers.
She's growing so fast.
I used to despair that she'd never learn to sleep on her own. Until we moved her to a bed, she fell asleep in my arms. Every. Single. Night. Now that she's in a bed, she falls asleep curled up against her daddy, who then slips gently off the mattress and slinks out of the room.
When I first started putting her to bed, I'd lie down with her and read her books. She'd get tired, and roll over, and doze off. Over time, though, she got more and more active with me. It was Steve's idea to take the second shift; and for several months now we've had a Mommy-shift followed by a Daddy-shift. She doesn't know how to fall asleep with me anymore - if she's really tired, she asks for Daddy, and we change shifts early.
Lately, though, she's becoming very possessive of her pillow. Having Mommy lying next to her is still desirable - but not always as desirable as having her pillow to herself. Sometimes, when I'm lying next to her, she'll sit up and say "Mommy in the chair." And I get up and sit in the rocking chair next to the bed until she decides it's time for me to lie down again.
On the one hand, it's a wonderful step toward independence. She's moving closer and closer to sleeping on her own. (Is she old for it? Probably. But Mama still won't let her cry.) I can't say it won't be LOVELY when I can say "Time for bed, Em!" and have her scurry upstairs for a story and a smooch, after which I leave her curled up with her kitty to doze off on her own.
On the other hand, I miss her. I miss her when she's right in front of me. Maybe it's a Mom thing; maybe it's just a Liz thing. Steve doesn't feel that way. He says he feels her in the present, vividly, all the time. I know what he means - she's such a personality, so full of curiosity and fun and cleverness. But when she buries her head in my chest or curls up with her spine against me or just leans against me while she's sitting on the sofa, I want to dilate every pore in my body and just soak her up. I am starving for her. I could live off of cuddling, I'm sure of it.
Every time she cuddles with me, I feel absolutely contented. And every time she pulls away I stumble inside, grasping after her, watching her vaporize between my fingers.
Children are meant to grow away from us. They're meant to grow up and have their own lives and be happy without giving us a hug or a smooch or just sitting on our feet while they play with their rubber duckies. I want her to be healthy and happy and autonomous. I don't want her to grow up feeling obligated to her cuddle-hungry mama.
But it still hurts, just a little, to open my hands and let her go.