Every night before I go to bed, I steal into Bean’s room to peek at her in her crib. Ostensibly, this is to “check on her” – make sure she has blankets if she needs them, is still wearing pajamas and a diaper, is still breathing, etc. But the real reason I do this, if I’m totally honest with myself, is to stare at her. Don’t all parents do this? She’s so angelic in sleep, and it reminds me of those first, precious weeks with her, when she was like a little pink-cheeked cherub, always sleeping on my chest or my husband’s, or swaddled in blankets in her crib or playpen.

Now each time I watch her sleep I’m reminded of how quickly she’s growing up. Gone are the curled limbs of babyhood. She sleeps with her legs stuck straight out and slightly apart – awake and standing, a pose of defiance; asleep, one of total relaxation. She often puts her arms behind or next to her head, or holds her teddy bear or whatever object she is loyal to that night – a book, a blanket, a ball, a dried out baby wipe. She snores slightly, snorts quietly, changes position. Sometimes she still sleeps with her head on her arms and her butt in the air, like some yoga position that doesn’t really look comfortable but is probably great for her spinal column. Occasionally I come in and find an arm or leg sticking out through the crib rails. Then I carefully, quietly tuck it back in so she doesn’t hurt herself when she flops over in her sleep. I wish I could take a picture of her when she sleeps, without waking her. I want to capture those innocent moments and hold onto them before they slip away.

Children start as adorable little bundles of drool and heavenly baby smell and flailing limbs. They hook you, make you fall insanely in love with them, and then break your heart a little more each day as they get older and need your cuddling less. My greatest fear – well, let’s face it. I have a lot of fears, but one of the greatest is that when my adorable Bean becomes a teenager (or even a tween), she will dislike me, resent me, maybe even hate me. She’ll go through that difficult stage in life when everything Mom does is embarrassing or annoying. I find myself thinking carefully of what to do in order to make that not happen. How can I be different from my own mother? How can I be less overprotective, and more understanding? More hip, and less critical? Less an old lady, and more a peer?

Maybe I can’t, but I’ll try, if she’ll give me a chance. And as I stand over my sleeping angel in her crib, I say a little prayer…to her. “Please sleeping angel…go easy on your Mom. I love you.”