Sunday, January 23, 2011
There is still a bit of baby in him, though. He carries is blanket around when he's sleepy. He sucks on his pacifer to sooth himself to sleep. He cries for his Mama. I especially memorize these very things that make him seem so little. I watch as he falls asleep through the crack in his door. I watch as he learns to paint. I delight when he looks for Waldo in his favorite book. But, even as I try to bottle up every last detail and watch his every move, I forget. The details fade. I can barely remember what he felt little as I rocked him to sleep last year.
So, tonight, I rocked and forced these details not to leave. I searched frantically through the dark to see and feel this moment. My baby boy who is on the verge of being a big boy, his mismatched jammies and how they are snug on his belly, the black puppy he sleeps with waiting for him in his crib. I kissed him night-night. I took one last look around. And I asked him to please not change too much tonight as he sleeps.
I will see you in the morning my sweet boy. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. The good kind of hurt. You'll understand when you rock your baby to sleep. I wish there were a better way to say I love you. I wish there were a way to make it mean more than it usually does. These three little words do nothing for me. I pray that you know. I pray that you feel the love I could never explain. Every minute of pride, every moment of heart wrenching love, and each second of devotion your Mama has felt is because of you and your sister. For that, I could never repay you. Thank you for making me a Mama. Thank you for taking it easy on me tonight, and waking up your Mama's baby.