We stopped in at a run down motel during the start of our second road trip of the season. And while I had desperately wished for sleep, I knew it was unlikely.
And sure enough, his cries rang out just as I was settling in. And I knew we were in for a long night.
I lay in that rickety motel bed thinking “I’m too old for this.” These sleepless nights that drain every cell out of my brain and wreck me physically. My head throbbing from the weight of exhaustion, my body sore from the weight of a toddler and the inability to get comfortable.
I’m too old for this. My mid-thirties body feeling at least 10 years older than it is.
I’m too old for this. These family trips where fatigue is relentless and a vacation feels like punishment.
But I must remember that someday he’ll be too old for this too.
Too old to cry out to mama in the night, when he’s scared of his new surroundings.
Too old to be lifted out of bed, his head pressing into my shoulder as the feeling of safety quiets his urgent cries.
Too old for my body to curve perfectly around his as he drifts in and out of sleep.
Too old to rest comfortably in the arms of mama when he wishes not to be alone.
Too old to cling to me as he chases adventure on his own.
So while my body tells me I’m too old for this, my heart tells me to hang on for a little longer. Because before long, it’s his heart that will pull away, his whole being telling him he’s too old for this too.