My oldest is a very light sleeper. I was able to check on her when she was smaller, and I often did, especially in those days when we first brought her home from the hospital and the act of breathing was still something she wasn't excellent at. Gradually, the oxygen went away, and my nightime and naptime visits to her room decreased in frequency until they had all but stopped. When we moved into our new home, these visits really did stop because there is a creaky floorboard right in her doorway now, which means that unless I conquer stealth mode (me as a ninja=current failure), I don't often get to watch her breathe. I do, however, occasionally pull out some yoga moves and hang on to her doorway to peek in and watch her sleep in all of the crazy positions she gets from me.
My son sleeps a bit deeper, but I don't often take the time to watch him sleep unless I have to go in and wake him up. I treasure those small. 30-second pauses, watching his chest rise and fall and wondering what sort of wonderful dreams he is having and if I am part of them before I interrupt him and bring him back to reality.
A wise woman once told me that if you want to find good kids, you peek into their rooms and watch them while they are sleeping. Somehow, the act of sleep can turn a terrorist two-year-old into the most innocent, sweet little lamb. I've tried to remember this advice and on the particularly tough days, I try to take a small peek at my little ones while they are in their angelic state. Somehow, the act of watching them in their most helpless state is enough to fill my motherhood canteen with love and give me the courage to try again tomorrow.
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