Sleep Dance

Mommy, I need you to sleep lif me.
And because she rarely asks,
I throw back the covers and enter the cocoon,
folding my legs up against my chest
in an effort to sleep on the bed, sideways.

At 2:15 in the morning, I listen to the silence.
The whir of the ceiling fan, the small sniffs of the
fiesty little creature next to me.
I close my weary eyes and hope that slumber will overtake me.
That even though my body curls in an errant position,
my brain can shut off.

My eyelids flutter open to see, in the dim glow of the pink princess night light,
two hazel gems, staring at me,
a sweet smile pasted on the countenance in which they belong.
Her soft fingers find my face,
and trace a loving path from my cheek to my chin.
I love you, Mommy, she says, and turns her head away.

I know when time has marched on,
when the 5:05 watch alarm rings,
I will throw my arm over my bleary eyes and groan.
Peeling my body from the contorted position in which it will have set for 3 hours,
I will attempt to extricate myself from the bed,
without waking Sleeping Beauty.
It is a dance I used to do often,
one I thought I'd never miss.
And yet I do.

I hope she needs me to sleep lif her again, soon.