In the Quiet Nursery

The past three nights, Banner has wanted to cuddle with me before he goes to sleep for the night. This is a change from a) preferring Sam over me when it comes to most everything and b) typically putting himself to sleep the moment he finishes his bottle and we "brush" his teeth. He has usually reached for his crib and can't seem to get in it fast enough even though Sam and I are still asking for kisses and saying our goodnights. So, these past three nights have been unusual, but I gladly will accept his desire for a little extra Mommy time. I crave him, too, so I am loving his need for me. It might change back again tomorrow, and that's just fine, but I'll take what I can get! :)

Just like when he was 3-4 months old and seemed to want only me to put him to sleep, I've been teary again rocking with him as we cuddle. I gently rub his forehead, run my fingers through his curly hair, graze the crook of his nose, and hold his fingers in my hand, and tears stream down my face. He has his eyes closed, but sometimes they peek open with heavy eyelids as he stares into my watery eyes. I just love him. And, I can't get enough of these tender moments. But, I cry for a variety of reasons.

I have so many thoughts going through my mind as I cradle his body against me. I think about my Grandpa in the nursing home, all alone. I wonder how his mother would feel about him being there day after day with only a few visitors every now and then. I think about how I can't stop time and how Banner's life will whiz by, too, just like my (almost) 94 year old grandfather's has. I think about how this babyhood of his is a blink of an eye in his (God-willing) long life - how he'll be in school before we know it, he'll be graduating, dating, driving, staying out with friends, going to college, joining the work force, having a family of his own, and fighting old age all too soon, and there's nothing I can do to make it slow down. I think about my Grandpa being rocked by his mommy back in 1918, and I think about how one day I won't be in Banner's life. Then, I think about Sam without his mom, and I cry knowing how he just wants his mommy sometimes. Don't we all? Don't we all just want our mommies? So, I think about how in this tender, perfect moment of rocking my sleepy baby to a peaceful slumber, just the two of us, how perfect and timeless these memories are.

I also think about how our children do not belong to us. We do not own them. We can't control them, and we can't protect them from every single thing. I can't be with him every second of his life. In fact, most of his 24-hour day is spent by himself in his room while he sleeps. We parents simply get the pleasure of doing our best to raise our children right, to nurture them in every way, and to guide them to make good choices. We get a split-second in time to have each other and to love each other before it's over. In that moment in Banner's dark room, holding each other in the glider, we are perfectly safe and sound. Nothing can touch us, and maybe just for that second we belong to each other - just for a moment. But, I can't help but mourn and miss his newbornness, his infancy, his babyhood - even though he's still a baby.

The other day, we were working on Banner's walking skills in the living room. He's getting SO good, and I know it will be a matter of days or so before he's walking with much more confidence. But, anyway, we practice often at night, watching Banner walk back and forth between Sam and me. One particular time, a couple days ago, he walked from me to Sam - veered slightly off track, but then corrected to get to Sam's arms. I clapped as tears poured down my cheeks and I struggled to get "YAY!" out of my mouth. There was my baby, walking away from me, and he was doing it so well. Again, a thousand thoughts rushing through my mind: he's doing it!, way to go!, he's getting so good!, look how he corrected and stayed balanced!, he's walking away from me!, don't grow up so fast!, I am so proud of him!, I love watching him!, I love how proud of himself he is, slow down - we're not trying to rush you!, be a baby and enjoy this time!, oh my God, I love him so much! And the tears continued. So many thoughts - so many contradicting feelings. Time is flying, and I cannot believe it.

So, these past few nights, in the quiet nursery, I have all these existential thoughts, and it makes all the stress and chaos of the busy, tiresome day fade away. I soak in his sweet face, his baby smell, his soft skin. I try to memorize the feeling of his body cuddled next to mine. I embrace these quiet, delicate moments because every single day I feel that umbilical cord tug a little more as he gets farther and farther away. And, I cry. I can't hold back the flowing tears - tears of happiness, tears of sadness, tears of longing, tears of missing, tears of missing my own childhood and having MY mommy cuddle me each night, tears of sadness for Sam not having his mommy to cuddle him again, tears of complete and utter love.