To my 1-year-old comfort is a quiet cuddle while nursing with mommy. It’s knowing that when he cries in the night mommy or daddy will come and quietly pat his bum and stroke his cheek while he settles back to sleep. It’s a cottony receiving blanket that he reaches for whenever he needs to feel secure. It’s a daytime caregiver who loves him and cares for him as if he were her own. It’s a big brother who plays with him, cuddles him and treats him like a friend. It’s a mommy who just can’t get enough kisses and snuggles.
To my 3 1/2 year-old it’s four cozy blankets, two crocheted, two fleece. It’s a soother that he can’t bear to part with and still needs to sleep at night. It’s a ball of fluff that he’s curled between his fingers every night since he was 8-months-old. It’s two parents who love him, hug him, kiss him, read to him and play with him as if he were the most important person on the planet, because of course in those moments he is. It’s a grandfather who worships him and makes an effort to see him almost every day. It’s friends at daycare who he knows will always be there to play with and miss him when he’s not.
To me it’s sitting in my baby’s nursery at night enveloped in the warmth and comfort of it. It’s routine, predictable and manageable. It’s cozy jammies and a good book at night to relax and take me away. It’s parents who love me and support me in so many ways. It’s friends I can count on, and know will not judge. It’s my beautiful children, my husband, my home and all of the love that surrounds me.