Tuesday, March 25, 2008

it's moments like these

The Mister has taken to sleeping on the couch most of the past few nights after reading this, and I have been sleeping the whole, entire, everylastminuteofthe-livelong-night. And it is GRAND!

So when wee HB woke up two nights ago, at 5:24 a.m., my reaction was to grumble, but then I realized I had been sleeping for hours and hours, and I very nearly bounded out of bed with a sense of joy and rapture. Okay, maybe I fell out of bed and prayed for joy and rapture, but it was there somewhere.

I went in HB's room, and scooped my babe up in my arms for a cuddle. Now by scoop, I mean bulldozer-style hefting, not the two-hands-only-no-actual-strength-involved picking up that some people are able to do with their children. Because this boy is working on developing the kind of fat-roll investment that old twinkie-eating alcoholics have. The exception being that HB is not gross, and doesn't eat nasty twinkies, and only drinks beer when it comes from the tap If You Know What I Mean. And, NO!, I do not mean that the baby does keg stands, or has ever even seen a beer tapper-thing. Be real, for crying out loud. But I digress.

He was chilly and still very tired and just needed some mama, so I wrapped his quilt around him, and we sat in the comfy chair in his room and rocked and nursed.

There was such perfection in that moment. Everything was still and quiet; the night was still sleepy and daytime wasn't ready yet. And my sweet babe laid his fatty-fat cheek on my chest, snuggled his round little self into me and went to sleep. His hot little hands were at rest, one on his face and one on my side. I had nearly forgotten what it felt like to be holding a sleeping toddler, and I was surprised, if a mom can be surprised, by how much love I have for that little boy.

And now, while I sit here and write all of this, I have tears in my eyes, because I know that may have been the very last time HB wakes up for a little nursing comfort. He is getting so big and is developing so much...from physical things like walking, even running, and his balance, to talking and feeding himself. There's not much baby left in him.

I'm sure that sometime much later, I hope, I'll be commenting on how all of my kids have not much little kid left in them, or not much teenager left in them. Maybe that one won't make me cry...then again, it probably will.

There is one part about my kids growing up that is pleasant: I don't notice how old I am getting. Take the perks where you can, I guess.

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talk to me, people. because you know i get all giddy when you do.