in the dark

So the Little Miss is pretty good about going to bed, even when she’s not quite asleep. She’ll keep looking at the world through small slits as she grunts herself to sleep. Last night, as we turned off all the lights, it struck me: she isn’t scared of the dark.

Most of us are somewhat afraid of the dark. You might not be frightened to turn off the lights, but things are always more scary at night, when you can’t see what lurks around the corner. When something creaks or crinkles somewhere in the house, your eyelids fly open, listening for another sound to either define the danger or dispel the fear. But to Annabelle, there isn’t anything to be scared of. She just keeps grunting away, likely staring into the pitch black of night, unaware that she has reason to question the space around her.

This morning we made our two month visit to the pediatrician. The sweet nurse with a gentle voice quickly poked my baby in each leg to administer her first round of immunizations. And as little Belle clung to my face and screamed at the top of her lungs, I realized that this is how we become scared of the dark.

The same thing that teaches us about the good in the world – experience – teaches us about the dark. And while this is no fun, in my mind I’m like, oh just wait until high school sweetie.

At least this time around I can hold her while she cries.