Ava’s room is full of stars. At night, she turns on her special ladybug nightlight, and it covers the ceiling with either blue, green, or red constellations. She usually chooses the blue. Last night, after feeding Emmett, I went to check on her beneath her starry blue sky. She was huddled under her blankets, clutching her lambie lovey and she said, “I’m so lonely, Mama. I’m lonely at night.”
I tried to explain to her that it’s good to have alone time, so that she can think about her day and make up stories in her head. I told her that she should learn to be good company for herself so that she’ll never be alone anywhere. She refuted all of this with vigorous head shaking and kept telling me–in the smallest, saddest voice–about how lonely she felt at night without me.
The guilt was a stab in my heart, since I no longer lie with her in the evenings; I now snuggle with her brother and nurse him to sleep instead. Then she said something that made me feel really rotten–but also gave me a laugh. She said, “Mama, I’m as lonely and cold as the winter. I’m like a penguin.”
I think she said this because we’ve watched the segment about penguins in the “Planet Earth” series, and it shows them huddling in the bitter Arctic darkness, as a driving wind beats against their backs.
Oh, my lonely little penguin, under your icy blue stars, I love you beyond measure.
