Memos from the Middle

Acoustic Sisterhood

First, little whimpers. Then, full on cries. I heard them, but sheer exhaustion made me question whether or not I was really awake.

I opened my eyes and glanced toward the monitor. The green lights, picking up every movement and noise from the nursery, let me know that I needed to get up.     I felt around in the darkness for my glasses, knocking over chess pieces that decorate the dresser next to the bed. My legs wouldn’t move, though.

 

“All right, Mommy,” I coaxed myself. “You’re a new mother again. You’ve got to get up!”

 

“But I don’t wanna!” I whined to myself like a lunatic.

 

“Put on your mommy robe, and GET UP!”

 

I let out a deep, prolonged sigh and rolled slowly out of bed, dragging my body toward the kitchen.

 

I assembled a clean bottle and began filling it with milk when the sound of plucked guitar strings flitted about the atmosphere.

 

I opened the curtain in the kitchen to figure out who was playing music so loudly that it penetrated the walls of my home at 3 in the morning. Stepping back curiously, with questioning eyebrows close to tired eyes, I concentrated in the darkness. I could just make out the soft voice singing.

 

I inched my way to the nursery, allowing the music to guide me, and rounded the corner into the room.

 

There, with the light from the closet casting a dull yellow glow upon the crib, the Princess stood on her pink step stool, a stage for her performance. Her improvised lyrics and sporadic strumming soothing her hungry little brother.

 

“I think he needed to hear some music, Mommy.”

 

“I think you’re right, baby.”

 

“Do you think he likes my song I wrote for him?”

 

“I think he loves the song, and I think he loves you!”