As I lay you down to sleep, I feel the weight of your body in my arms, and look down at your sleepy face looking back at me. This is our special time, just me and you, in your dimly lit nursery. The chaos disappears as soon as I close the door and we sit together in the rocking chair. Reality is left outside. As I rock you, I have conversations with you in my head (just like when you were in my belly, do you remember?) These are some things I say to you:
Your hands are so soft.
Please, please please sleep through the night!
Do I give you enough attention? I’m still learning how to have two kids. Please bear with me.
How did you get such perfect little lips? Will there come a time when you won’t let me kiss them?
Do you dream at night? Do you dream about me?
Who do you look like? Me? Your dad? I don’t think you look like either one of us!
How am I doing so far as your mom? Are you happy here?
Will you remember this? Maybe subconsciously?
Can you feel how much I love you?
Your brother loves you too, even though his involvement in your life now basically consists of stealing your toys and yelling at you. He loves you and will be your best friend for life.
Don’t close your eyes yet, I’m not done watching you.
Don’t let go of my finger yet, I’m not done holding it.
Don’t grow up so fast, I’m not done…just not done yet.