The Log in My Bed

The summer Will was born we went to Maine with my family. If you know us well, you know that meant a week at our beloved campground, Whispering Pines. 

We were in tents and it was Maine, so the nighttime would come and even though he was bundled tight and was off the ground, my newborn would cry and cry and toss and turn and like, not sleep. We were on vacation and we were so dang tired.

Drew’s memory of this trip is the best nap of his life. Tucked into a hammock under the trees, he was deep in rest when the screams began and woke him from his sleepy bliss.

That afternoon an ambulance drove Josh and Drew to the hospital while my dad and Will and I followed in our van. An accident on the beach had left Josh’s femur once again snapped cleanly into two pieces. A vacation ending in trauma and pain and exhaustion.

I returned to the campground late that night with the cold restless baby and climbed back into our tent. Drew sleeping with Josh in the hospital room, me attempting to keep Will happy on an air mattress that had to be blown up every two hours.

The next morning I was up early, Will in my arms, knocking at my parents camper door. They let me in, gave me their bed and on a soft mattress in the warm camper, we both feel into a deep, deep sleep.

When I woke up a few hours later I felt a sharp object poking me in my back. Reaching behind me I found a large piece of firewood that was separating me from Will. Why was there a log in the bed?

The camper door opened and my dad walked in. “Sorry, I had to put that there. You were in such deep sleep and I didn’t want to wake you. I just wanted to make sure Will was safe and you didn’t roll over onto him.”

It’s 13 years later and this pandemic has me back knocking on my parent’s camper door. It’s in their driveway and it’s offering me space to rest. Will still doesn’t sleep because he’s a teenager and nighttime is his awake time, so I woke up exhausted again this morning. But breakfast was ready and my parents were here to enjoy our company and do whatever they can to keep us going. They are always keeping a watch out – just in case we need logs in our bed.

2 thoughts on “The Log in My Bed

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