Saturday, May 30, 2015

I hold you.

I hold you in my arms as you sleep, listening to your father play with your sisters. I hold you in my heart and in my eyes, watching you raise your eyebrows at your dreams as you chase rabbits.

You are my precious last and I want to hold these moments in the palm of my hand. Your little green gingham bubble I purchased for you before you were born makes me smile. Those fuzzy little red hairs on your head, with only four holding strong at over an inch- I kiss those little hairs and cannot help but grin.

You are snuggled into my chest right now, wrapped around my belly with your feet dangling under my elbow. I am sitting in the quiet of our living room on our blue and white sofa, looking out into the blue sky. I am sitting here, quietly taking in this moment. Husband is probably annoyed with me that I have abandoned him with the children while I hold you. You crinkle your nose when you sleep and squint your eyes. When you raise those eyebrows again, I can see where your hairline will be.

Soon, you will wake up and start crying again. Soon, you will see your sisters tearing towards you to give you kisses and pinches- neither of which look like they are very pleasant, but both of which look like they are done with love.

In this moment, you are snuggled in tightly with your mom and your head rests peacefully in the nook of my right arm. Your fingers are wiggling slowly and your little legs twitch every time I move my left arm. You look like your cousin, Lucky. You don't smile when you sleep, yet you look completely satisfied with where you are.

You are the last baby I will hold that is mine for a very long time. So, let me take this time with you. Let me hold you while your father entertains the older two. Let me kiss away my sadness at how quickly time passes by and relish in how amazing babies are.

There is so much ahead for my children. So much life that is to be lived. So much loved that is to be shared. So much loss that is to be felt. So much of everything that is to be everything.

But, not in this moment. In this moment- in the stillness and silence. Hearing nothing but the keys click and the tiny breaths from those four month old lungs- time seems to pause for just a second and that's all I need. You rise and fall with my breaths and I notice all the curves that make up your face. The curves your eyes make when they are closed, the curves of your cheeks and little button nose, and the curves of your chin and lips. You have scratches on the left side of your face-- sorry about that. I am not very good at trimming finger nails, that's your grandmother's job.

Your skin is alabaster. Perfectly alabaster and completely clear of blemishes, scars, and bruises. You are perfect- perfect and innocent.

And in this moment, you are encapsulated in love by me.

As you start to stir, thank you for unexpectedly falling asleep on me. As your sisters get a little rowdy and I know I need to set you down, thank you for giving me a few minutes of your life. Thank you for coming into my life.

But, mostly-- thank you for sleeping in this moment, so I could write it down. One day, the Older Me will flip through my blog, find this, reread this, and remember this moment and how precious few chances I get to do this.

Husband is bringing your sisters up front to find me.

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