“Are you waking up?” I ask H as I enter the bedroom. It is his first nighttime wake up. He has called out for me.
“Yeah,” he mumbles in his sweet toddler voice.
“Where are you?” I ask him. My eyes have not yet adjusted to the dark of the room.
“I’m on the bed,” he informs me.
I love the guilelessness with which he answers my questions about such things.
“Where are you?”
I am patting the bed carefully, but I have not located him yet.
“Are you waking up for milk?” I ask to fill the time between now and when I lie down next to him.
“Yeah. I’m waking up, because I am waking up,” he explains.
I smile at his circular explanation.
“I am waking up a lot,” he says.
My smile grows wider and spreads to my heart. He does wake a lot. I am not sure if his statement comes from self-awareness or from stringing together words he knows from other contexts in a way that happens to fit the truth. Either way, in this moment, he has found a way to expand the space in my heart yet again and even more than I knew possible, just by being himself. When I feel the vastness of the space in my heart, as I do now, I step more easily into the expansiveness of the universe and all of the possibility, wonder, and peace that comes with feeling connected to something larger than oneself.
H does wake a lot, and while I vaguely recall how good a night of solid, uninterrupted sleep feels, I am grateful for the lessons in the wake ups. This child, like all children, knows nature and spirit, and I am so lucky, at any hour of the day or night, to have him as my guide.