Teddy Bear Snuggles

 "Mama, I need you to 'nuggle me"

 says the little boy.

 We are creating, whisking sugar into egg whites when I first hear him call.  My return calls go unanswered, so I continue whipping frothy white peaks.  I hear him again just as the bowl goes crashing to the ground.  White decorates the ground, beaters lying askew in clouds of white.  Much remains in the bowl despite its summersault. Good thing it wasn't a runnier mixture.  As I wipe floor, rewash beaters and dry hands, I hear him call with greater urgency.  Surrendering my plans to his needs, the bowls left on the counter, I head downstairs.

 He is sitting, sad.  He asks to be snuggled, explaining that he is just so sad without his mommy snuggles.  I crawl into bed with him, wrapping him tight.  Those little arms reach up to wrap me in turn.  "Am I your teddy bear, or are you mine?" I ask.  He thinks. So tired that his words get muddled up, he finally spits out that he is my teddy bear.  I kiss his hair, hug him tight.  Remembering how before children I went to sleep each night with a teddy bear.  My arms would clutch Teddy tight to my chest all through the night.  All through my childhood until the day I became a mother, my teddy slept with me.

 Teddy no longer lives at my house, having been passed on long ago.  Instead of teddy bears, I snuggled with babies until now I long for sleep without anything touching me.  Funny, that.  As I cradle my big little boy close pretending that he is my teddy bear, I ponder those days and the desire I had to hold something while I slept.  Could this be a desire God placed within so that I would treasure those little ones even in my sleep?

 His breathing evens out, I untangle myself and tiptoe back upstairs to finish my baking.  But as I measure, fold and spoon meringue on to baking sheets I remember the wonder of little babies asleep next to me.  As I drift off to bed tonight, I will enjoy the wonder of a bed empty of children.

Joining with Emily as she cuddles her newborn;