“I got you, my love,” I whispered, as I scooted off the couch en route to transfer Jonah to the bed. These nights, he falls asleep in my arms, nursing, while I read books in a hushed, melodious tone. His mouth is still sucking as I stand up with all 26 lbs of him, remembering how he felt in my arms as a newborn, a 4 month old, a 12 month old. He’s 20 months now – inching away from babyhood but peacefully my baby in my arms asleep in that moment. I’m struck by the gift of having his trust, his vulnerability; he trusts that I’ll hold him and soothe him and carry him, that I’ll gently and lovingly transfer him to our shared bed and be in soon to snuggle next to him. When he wakes in a few hours, he’ll search for me and reach out. I’ll tuck him close, and his little lips will find my milk, relax, and sink back into the bed, his warm, little hand resting on my chest.
These are the days, the nights. Relentless and exhausting. Beautiful and fleeting. Treasured and sweet. It’s nothing short of amazing that I get to experience them with this sweet, incredible being. When I slow down, I see that this is what there is, this is what we live for. In a world right now of so much unknown and fear, this is what we turn to — the slow wind-down of a baby into slumber in our arms, the stolen moments in the middle of the night that I both desire and curse, the image of his eyes closed in peace and dreams next to me.
This is it. And in this moment, I can see and feel that. Thank god I came back to myself long enough to witness it.
Written November 17, 2020
