Last night, Belle had a little nightmare.
I hate to ever see or hear my baby cry out in fear, but there is a sort of guilty pleasure for me whenever this happens. She cries out in darkness, lying there...all alone in her little crib. A few seconds later, I come in to save the day and make it all feel better. Her face always lights up when she sees me, her little smile greets me as her tears of fright roll down her cheeks.
For a brief moment, I get to be like Superman. I swoop in, pick my daughter up, and make her feel safe. She clings to me as I were her favorite blanket. I love the feeling of her tiny arms wrapped around my neck and her warm cheek pressed up against my shoulder. I gently rock her back to sleep, patting her on the back while calmly saying, "It's okay, Daddy's here."
I kiss the back of her neck and firmly say, "Daddy will always be here to make the sleep monsters go away."
I think about when I was little and how my Father was the benchmark for strength to me. There was nothing my Father could not do in my eyes (and still does, for that matter).
I know there'll be a day when Belle will no longer need me to make the sleep monsters go away. Selfishly, I'm just going to enjoy it while I can.
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