Keeping Watch

I am currently weaning Samantha from the need to have me nearby as she goes to sleep.  Some days she needs physical contact to get to sleep, some days she just needs to peek up at me occasionally and know that I'm still there, watching over her.  At other times, all she needs is a kiss goodbye and she's content to drift off all alone in her room, fiddling with her pacifiers and birdie.  And then there are the days when nothing satisfies and she has to cry herself to sleep no matter what I do.

Today all she needed was to peek up at me occasionally to know that I was still there.  As I leaned over her crib a few minutes ago, waiting and watching, my mind wandered back to my own childhood.  I distinctly remember the warmth of knowing that as I went to sleep, there were lights on somewhere in the house and Mom was up doing things.  I relied on that comfort into my teens.  Now, at 34, I can't get to sleep unless I'm the last one to go to bed.  As much as I've tried, and no matter how tired I am, I can't get to sleep if I know my husband will be coming to bed later.  The knowledge that everything is not settled down for the night around me, the anticipation that something will be bustling about nearby, keeps me awake.

It made me wonder... when did I change?  When did I go from being the child that needed to know someone was still awake in the house keeping watch, to the adult who can't go to sleep if others are still up?  The mother who now keeps watch as her own little girl drifts off to sleep, comforted by my wakeful presence.