Naptime

A few days ago, Joy was napping in our king-size bed, alone, with lights off and drapes closed. It was around 4 p.m., and some light was entering the room from the top of the drapes.

Joy was in the center of the bed on her back, with the duvet pulled up to her chest. I lay down next to her and pushed my right arm under her neck. I was on my side, facing her. And I took her right hand in my left. And I just lay there quietly, watching her. But Joy began to stir. Just a bit. Her eyes were still closed, but her mouth moved and her head turned from side to side. Then she was still.

A minute later, with eyes still closed, she raised her left arm and brushed the back of her hand against my chin. I typically have two or three days of stubble on my face, and that day was no different. She rubbed the back of her hand on my chin stubble, back and forth, for several seconds. She has done this before, and I have assumed that when she’s too tired to open her eyes (or when it’s dark), she uses this maneuver to determine who is holding her.

There’s only one person in her house who has facial hair, so she very quickly determined that Dad was holding her. If she had felt a smooth chin, there’s at least a 90 percent chance that Mom was holding her.

Joy fell back into a deep sleep for a few minutes. Then she was back to rubbing my chin. Dad is still holding me, she’s thinking. But she kept rubbing my chin, over and over. What is she thinking now? I wondered. Maybe: Hi, Dad, I like you holding me. Don’t you dare stop holding me. I will continue to rub your chin to make sure you are here. Or something like that.

Then I fell asleep.