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Asleep in My Arms
Its 11 PM and I am driving home from a party. My
daughter, Molly, is beside me, blissfully singing
along to the car stereo. I have kept her up late
because I didn't want to leave the party. Now I am
really tired and hoping she will fall asleep before
we get home. I just want to crawl into bed. I don't
want to shepherd her through brushing her teeth,
getting on her jammies, and reading her a story. I
love our usual bedtime routine, but tonight I am
just too bushed.
My chances of her falling unconscious while she
is singing look pretty slim. So when the current
song is over I advance the CD a few tracks to what
I know will be a slow song. Luckily, Molly doesn't
seem to care. I fish out a pillow from the back
seat and suggest to her that she rest her head. She
lays the pillow down against my thigh and slides
herself down horizontally, her hips twisted by the
seat belt. My right hand lights softly on her
shoulder. She sighs, and in a few more blocks she
is gone.
I become aware of her in a different way now
that she is asleep. Her arm is so small. Her head
is so heavy. I can feel the weight of it through
the pillow on my thigh. I massage her neck with my
thumb. I wonder at how relaxed she is. It's been
thirty years since my neck and shoulders were that
loose.
Here is this person next to me. Eight years ago
she didn't exist. Her body is small, but amazingly
healthy. If I twist my back, I'm down for two
weeks. If she sprains her ankle, she can play
soccer again the next day. What a vibrant package
of life! Her mother and I have fed and clothed her,
but it is some life force within her that propels
her body to grow. It is a mystery beyond me. Yet,
as her father, I have the honor of watching this
mystery unfold.
I park. I lift her out of the car, carefully
navigating past the steering wheel and the car door
that won't stay open like it should. She is much
heavier than she used to be. Her body spreads out
too far for two arms to easily support. Still
asleep, she senses this and wraps an arm around my
neck as I climb the stairs to the house. "I love
you, Daddy," she whispers dreamily. "I love you
too," I whisper back.
Inside the house, I lay her down in her bed. I
pull up the covers and kiss her on the forehead.
Now I am done. Now I can go to sleep. So why do I
pause before I close her bedroom door. And wish she
was awake, so we could read a story together.
© 2008, Tim
Hartnett
Other Father Issues,
Books
* * *
Your children need your presence more than your
presents. - Jesse Jackson
Tim
Hartnett, Ph.D. is a licensed Marriage and Family
Therapist in private practice in Santa Cruz, CA. He
specializes in Individual Counseling, Couples
Therapy, and Divorce Mediation. He can be reached
at 831.464.2922 or through his website:
www.TimHartnett.com
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