Half of Sixteen

Sunday was Kiera’s birthday. She turned eight. Eight, people. That’s half of 16! And let me just stop you right there. Do not, I repeat, do not tell me how fast time goes by with your child. I am acutely aware of this fact.

Friday night, the night before her birthday party, Aaron and I sat down with her to discuss the party.

“Now, baby.” I began, “Mom and Dad didn’t get you very much for your birthday. We wanted to make sure you had a fun party and we wanted to do some fun activities with you on your real birthday.”

Kiera stopped coloring and turned to face us. “It’s ok. I understand. You don’t have to get me a lot of gifts.”

She smiled at us and then went back to her coloring page as if she hadn’t just melted our hearts with her simple statement.

Sometimes she seems so grown up. And then there are times like Sunday night that reminds me she is still our little girl.

I went to put her to bed Sunday night. We read a story, turned off the lights and I sat on her bed as she kept thinking of questions to ask. Question after random question.

“Can I sleep in your room?” She asked.

“No, baby. You need to sleep in yours.” I responded, moving her hair out of her face.

She eventually settled on her stomach and I thought we were in the clear until she asked, “Can you tell me a story?”

Trying not to sigh, I made a story up about a butterfly and a family of birds. She still did not fall asleep.

“Ok. Move over, Kiera.” I stated as I pushed her blankets over to make room for me.

I stretched out beside her, patted her back and hummed along to the music that played in her room.

Finally, I felt her get still, her breathing evening out. I laid beside her quietly for several more minutes, trying not to fall asleep myself.

Just as I made up my mind to get up, she shifted. “Mom? I had a bad dream.”

Trying not to sound frustrated, I asked, “What was your dream about, baby?”

She turned her face towards mine. “I dreamed about a monster that stole kids.”

“Oh, honey. You are safe.” I reassured her. I began to pat her back as my tired mind began to race.

What if? I began to think. I cannot be the only parent that thinks like this.

Kiera shifted beside me again. “All right.” I said. “Grab your blanket and let’s go.”

She sat up. “To your room?”

“Yes.” I replied. “To my room.”

I’m so thankful for our king size bed, especially on nights like this one. Even more so in the middle of the night, when a storm rolls up and the 70-pound boxer decides to climb into bed with us as well. At least Kiera and Ziggy slept well.

I may be tired, but I still wouldn’t trade these crazy nights for the world.

Rowonna McNeely works as the Communications Manager for the Brownwood Area Chamber of Commerce. She and her husband, Aaron are regular volunteers in the community, and have their hands full with their daughter, Kiera, along with three dogs, one cat and one hamster.

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