[Parenting Essay] #1 A Heavy and Snug Night

My eldest daughter, Icchan, who is about to turn five,
and my second daughter, Tsu-chan, who is halfway through her first year.

Several times a week, my nights are occupied by these two little girls.

On the nights when I am in charge of putting them to bed, their mom finishes up the remaining chores or spends her free time in the living room, so the bedroom becomes a time just for me and my daughters.

There are three futons in the bedroom.

Arranged from the window side toward the closet side, they are set up as single, single, and semi-double, with the plan being for me to sleep by the window, Mom by the closet, and the two children in between.

Even though we should have plenty of space, for some reason, we almost always start off by huddling together on my futon by the window.

Tsu-chan lies face down on my chest, clinging to me perfectly, just like Mei-chan hugging Totoro's belly.

Even though she is on the petite side, holding an object weighing over seven kilograms is quite tough, and while I think to myself, 'I'll definitely be in pain if I fall asleep like this,' I leave her like that for a while.

Icchan barely has her lower body in her own futon, but she occupies about half of my pillow and sleeps in a strange, diagonal position.

Even though there are three futons, why do we always huddle together at the edge like this?

For my part, of course, I want to sleep spread-eagled on a spacious futon.

I want to fully heal from the fatigue of a day's work.

I sometimes mutter to myself, 'What should I do about this?'

But after a while, when I happen to glance over, the sleeping faces of the two sleeping right beside me catch my eye.

Tsu-chan's breathing, the position of the pillow that shifts little by little every time Icchan tosses and turns.

Icchan's soft hair, and Tsu-chan's cheek, which is squashed halfway on my chest.

When I touch such things, my exhausted heart slowly begins to loosen.

During the day, it's always a rush; one moment Tsu-chan is climbing onto a chair to skillfully pull out tissues and giggle, and the next moment she's already trying to open the living room door and run away.

One moment Icchan is happily coloring, and the next, she goes a little outside the lines and suddenly bursts into tears, saying, 'Oh no, I went outside the lines!'

Such lively moments appear before my eyes again and again, leaving me feeling overwhelmed, and when we are together, there is rarely a time when I can clearly sense a beginning or an end.

The time from the evening passes by before I know it, and although I get restless thinking, 'I have to get us to bedtime soon,'

once that noise finally settles down,

'You did your best today,'

'Let's have a fun day tomorrow, too,'

those feelings naturally well up inside me.

I wonder how long I will be able to spend nights like this.

Nights packed so tightly.

Someday, the day will come when each of them sleeps in their own bed, just as they like.

When that happens, my body will surely feel more at ease.

But I think I already know the loneliness of losing this 'mismatched happiness.'

My body is tired, but my heart is full.

This lack of balance is somehow endearing.

While feeling a little bit of sadness for the "future" that hasn't arrived yet,

let's savor this "heavy and tight-knit night" right in front of us now.

By the next morning, though, everyone is usually scattered as if that "tight-knit" time had been a lie.

↓ I've looked back on my experience posting on note for about a month.
If you've been engaging with note in your own way but are feeling a bit tired, please give this a read.