"A Good Night"

“Mommy, will you read me a bedtime story?”, are words I’ll never hear my daughter say.

I reach into the kitchen cabinet and pull out her sippy cup. As I pour her warmed milk into the only cup she’ll drink from, I imagine what I will do when it met its last day. Scrolling through a plethora of websites, only to find OUT OF STOCK displayed across the screen. I know the inevitable will eventually happen and I'll no longer have it, and I don’t have a replacement. I imagine it crushing under the weight of my hands, disintegrating into yellow dust. I stare at this odd creature, Sponge Bob, and detest him. I think about what she sees and loves about this cup and resent their shared secret. He ominously smirks at me knowing that she won't drink out of any other cups. By the time I discovered this influence he had and tried to find another at Target, it was too late. At home I frantically scrolled through a plethora of websites, only to find OUT OF STOCK displayed across the screens. This is when I knew we would become his captives. As I climb the stairs to her room, shackled to this loathsome creature, my hatred is short-lived because I reminded that he's the difference between a good night and a bad one. I resign that thought for another night. Tonight will be a good night.

As I walk into her room, I can feel the familiar tightness in my chest. I close my eyes, steady myself, and I mumble a prayer before going in. Light radiates from her face and she claps vigorously when she sees that I have her beloved cup. Her happiness consumes me, and a rare smile stretches across my face. Her small hands reach for it, and I steal a caress, stroking her soft cheek. For an instant, she looks up, and our eyes meet. Her brown eyes, wide with elation, cast the same spell, they always do, and I’m enveloped with its warmth. I realize this is the first time today she has made eye contact with me, and my throat tightens. I’m entranced by the moment and I attempt to hug her, but she resists.  I abandon the idea of trying to touch her and instead walk over to her dresser. I open the drawer and it is a sea of identical soft pink pajamas, in various sizes, all eagerly waiting their turn. As I pull out the selected pair, I envy them, because unlike me, they'll have their chance to embrace her.

It took several months for me to understand and recognize that certain colors and patterns created "visual clutter" and overstimulation for her. I glance around her room and I’m reminded of all the changes I’ve made to it. All the bright colorful books, toys, bedspread, and decor, you usually find in a child’s room, are gone. After a slow and precise process of daily modifications, it now resembles a beige, clutter-free waiting room, with minimal accessories. Sensory-friendly items and what they meant became part of my daily life. I became familiar with the way in which she felt things against her skin, how the colors affected her, and what they created for her emotionally. I began to see things, through her eyes, through her touch, the way she did. It helped me understand her and how she viewed the world. As the room transformed, I noticed bit by bit, her stress and aggression dissipated. The moaning and crying turned into smiles and laughs. With this new understanding and communication, I was finally able to hear my daughter’s voice. I cherish this space, which we created together and the connection it has given me with her. It’s a place that soothes and calms us both. A place that we can come together.

After she finishes her milk, I change her clothing and I know she is ready to sleep. “It was a good night", I whisper to myself, in relief, and watch her drift away. I kiss her cheek, and for the second time tonight I pray. Hoping she will sleep and that this meager prayer will be enough. I pull out the air mattress from under her bed and push it in front of her door, blocking it. My body becomes tense and my pulse quickens as a memory creeps into my mind. I remember the night I woke up to the pounding on my front door. How I raced down the stairs and found the door opened and a flashlight, in my face, blinding me. The red and blue flashing lights flooding my driveway. Then seeing my daughter in only her diaper and a blanket in the arms of a female officer and wondering where her clothes were. I remember the confusion, hearing her deafening cries, the endless questions, and how terrified I had been. The disgusted looks, from the neighbors standing on their lawns. The days of puffy eyes and the nights of endless tossing and turning. The phone calls and follow-up procedures. The stranger coming into our home and the fear of it happening again. I try to steady my breathing as I lay down on my semi-inflated mattress. I’m grateful for this goodnight and I turn over and can see her face, which calms me.

 Looking at her face I’m reminded of the Sisyphean task that is our life. Each day and night filled with its challenges.  I can feel my muscles loosen and I know my exhaustion will be enough to help me sleep tonight.