In our home, Dad does the bedtime routine with Gemma. He supervises the brushing of teeth, the reading of the Bible, and the bedtime prayers. Matt was away at a retreat over the weekend, so on Friday and Saturday night, I put Gemma to bed. I made sure her teeth were brushed, the Bible was read, the prayers prayed. And then she said it. "Sing to me."
Since Gemma was a baby, Matt, and I on the occasions that I put her to bed have sung a lullaby to her:
Sleep now, baby, don't you cry
Angels guard your bed tonight
Keeping you in Jesus' eyes
So sleep, sleep tonight.
Always the same song, always part of the bedtime ritual. I was surprised when she asked me to sing it, because Dad always does. She says Dad, not Daddy, and Mom, not Mommy. Apparently it's babyish to say Mommy and Daddy when you are seven. And yet, she still wants to be sung to. By me.
I don't have a nice singing voice like my husband. It's not pretty when I sing. Little children don't notice that kind of thing the way older kids do, or maybe they just don't care. Gemma still likes the way I sing, but I can't help but wonder how much longer she will. Has she already asked me to sing her to sleep for the last time?
Lullabies are babyish, though I would never tell Gemma so. I treasure this remaining fragment of my tiny child, this reminder of the baby she once was, as I watch her grow up so quickly, too quickly, right before my eyes, because one day, one day she will wake up, go about her day, and go to bed without asking to be sung to.
As parents, we remember the firsts: the first step, the first word, the first day of school, but we don't remember the lasts: the last time she rides in the cart a the grocery store, the last time she wants to hold my hand in public, the last time she wants to be sung to sleep. It's probably because those moments are so ordinary, regular, that we take them for granted, not realizing that someday, there will be a last moment. It's bittersweet, maybe a bit more bitter than sweet. And yet, I wouldn't trade those lasts for the world. Watching your child grow up is a beautiful thing, even if there are secret tears hidden behind the proud smiles.







