We moved into our new home in November. Among the perks was a basement that didn’t leak, a master walk-in closet the size of Seth’s old room and a larger living space with a very happy vibe.

In celebration of the move, Seth got a big kid bed. Soon after, he decided he preferred the guest bedroom where he could lounge in our old queen-sized bed. We struck a deal — if he went straight to bed without asking for a drink of water 900 times, then he could stay in the guest room. If not, then he’d have to sleep in his own room. And ever since? Bedtime battles aren’t nearly the frustrating ordeal they used to be.

What I didn’t realize was how I would benefit from this.

Over the course of the months, there have been many a night where I’ve lain in bed, staring at the ceiling. I can’t turn off the endless succession of lists, blog entry ideas, anxieties and obligations that pull at me.

There have been many a night I’ve looked at the clock only to realize that my brain has been somewhat of an unrelenting, mental motormouth for several hours. “It’s 3 a.m.,” I think to myself. “Seth will wake up in about 4 1/2 hours.” Often, around 6 a.m., my brain finally shuts down from exhaustion. I pass out — only to awake within two hours to feed a hungry boy and get on with a new day.

But recently when I find myself wide awake at 3 a.m. I take a completely different action. I grab my pillow and favorite blanket then steal into the guest bedroom.

I jokingly call it “bedhopping”. Yup. I go from one man’s bed to another.

I sneak into the guest room and gingerly push my little bedhog over to the left side. I curl up under the covers he’s blatantly and sleepily rejected. I grasp for his hand. I feel its warmth, softness. I rub his knuckles and try to memorize how small his hand is at this point in his life. I delight in listening to his steady, quiet breathing. He has no idea I’m laying next to him.

During the day I comfort him and ease his fears. But many a night, he’s the one doing the same thing for me. Yet he has no idea his presence eases my worried mind. In the solitude and the darkness, I can see the outline of his face and a trace of those chubby little cheeks. I lean over to kiss his cheek. It fills my heart. It nourishes my soul. And I marvel at how much I need this little boy. And I think about all of the lessons he’s taught me. He has no idea. And I realize I’m getting much more out of this relationship than he is.

Often, I’m asleep within 10 minutes of snuggling my little man. And when I wake up, I am usually greeted by a giggle or a “Mommy. I think I’m hungry for a chocolate shake.”

I know I won’t be able to do this for long. Those hands are growing so fast. And someday they won’t be so soft either. I don’t know what I’ll do when I need to sleep then. But for now, I try not to think of that reality. For now, he’s my sweet little boy. In those silent, still moments is when I cherish him the most.