Bed Mates

My son is six and a half, and he still can't go to bed without me curling up alongside and wrapping my arms around him. In the bright boldness of the daylight hours, he's all bravado; strutting around like the big man, dispensing orders and dishing out demands. But come nightfall, when he's tousled and dazed and ready for slumber, my little warrior transforms back into the overgrown baby that he is, nestling into me like a chick under a hen's wing.

Most nights I have to wait, wide awake in the dark, until the telltale signs that he has lost the battle against sleep emerge. I wait, until his breathing slows to a soft and steady rhythm, until his fingers involuntarily loose their grip around strands of my hair, before I gingerly attempt my nocturnal escape. Sometimes I misread the signs - I make the move too soon, and little arms and limbs reach out to clutch at, and to reclaim, the comfort of my presence. When this happens, I am resigned to at least another half an hour of silent vigil on the bed, wedged between small bodies, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating the strangeness of Life.

Sleep has a smell, or rather, sleeping children have a special scent. This is a piquant mix of warm hair, baby skin, talcum powder, toothpaste, grubby fingers and laundered pyjamas. It's one of the most wondrous aromas in the world.

I used to resent the time I had to waste on coaxing my children to sleep... time is so, so precious! I had so many tasks to attend to, there were so few hours left in the day, and all I could do was lie immoblised worrying about the chores instead of actually being able to perform them. I longed for the time when my children would no longer require my physical presence in their bed, when I would be able to free up at least an hour in the evenings to enjoy some solitude.

Recently, my wishes seem to be coming closer to being granted. My son, adjusting to a new routine of having to wake up at 6.30am to attend primary school, falls asleep soon after his head hits the pillow. My daughters, gluttons for sleep, never really had much difficulty. And so I'm able to creep out of their bedroom much earlier these recent nights, but the funny thing is this - I find myself lying there, the filling between a sandwich, much much longer than is necessary...

And I realise that I have always needed them more than they need me. In the years ahead, I will become increasingly dispensable, as they come into their own and sally forth to create their brave new worlds. But for now, while I am still relevant, I will spend a million hours and more, forfeit a thousand and one nights, just to pocket all these moments for preservation.