Tears at Night

Dear Banner,
Tonight, I have a confession to make. I cried in your bed. I used to cry nearly nightly when you were an infant. I would tear up, and sometimes sob, just holding you or watching you sleep. I knew those days were flying by so fast, and I knew I wanted to remember my Angel Baby so tiny and sweet. I knew I'd miss those days, and listening to your sweet lullabies each night just did me in. I would come out of your room so many nights with flowing tears streaming down my cheeks, my nose would run, and I'd even have to apologize to Daddy for what a blubbering mess I could be as I tried to tell him why I was crying that particular evening. It could be for any reason: it was the last night I would see you as a 7-month-old, you hugged me for the first time, you gave up your bottles, I was going back to work, you were learning new words, you were going to be a big brother, you smelled delicious and I couldn't eat you... ha! Just kidding.... but seriously, any given reason, or for no reason at all, I would just tear up at simply loving you so very much!

As the many months and now even years(!) started to pass with more and more going on, and quite honestly without your lullabies helping bring out that emotion even more powerfully, I just stopped crying. There were nights when you fought us on going to bed, nights you wanted us to wait outside your bedroom door while you fell asleep, nights you drove us nuts with your constant requests. So, bedtime became more of a frustration than an emotional connection. Although, once you drifted off, and I could still hear those sweet tunes in your room, I would melt down a little at just how much you have my heart. Then, once you dropped your nap and would drift off mid-story, you learned to need us in your bed to fall asleep. We didn't break this cycle when you still stayed awake through stories because, quite honestly, Quinn was going to bed at the same time as you, and we didn't want your cries and outbursts to keep him awake or wake him up. So, one big bad habit later, and Daddy and I still stay in your bed as you drift off.

As much as I hate that you don't put yourself to sleep all on your own, I adore this time with you. My absolute favorite is still watching you fall asleep (even through squinted eyes so you think I'm asleep). Your eyes get heavy, you fight it, looking blankly as if trying to decide what you're going to dream about each night. Then, finally, a soft peace comes over you as you relax into your sleep. Some nights I just tear up. Some nights, I am just fine. But, tonight, I cried.

There are many reasons I could give you: you kept kissing my hand over and over again; our thoughtful discussion about smoke and chimneys and fireplaces and why firefighters wear masks or how Mr. Abo provided "eye masks" (your words) to protect your eyes from sand in science class and how you want two masks - one for your mouth/nose and one for your eyes because "Isn't that a great idea, Mommy?"; how you told me that Bubbie used to rub lotion on Daddy to help him relax when he was little just like Mommy did you tonight; how you told me you loved me so much, too; how you're so excited Mommy's not working tomorrow so you can help me work on my farm (Hay Day game on the iPad) after "turtle time" (rest time) because "I think that's a good deal, right, Mommy?"; or maybe because I am simply amazed at your fascinating vocabulary and complex ideas. Any number of reasons could have set me off, but you know what it was?

It was that face. It was that face and how I can't capture it in anything other than my memory. I stared at you once you were asleep, just trying to memorize every single aspect of it - knowing full well that 20 years from now I would want to still see that 3-year-old face in front of me just like that but I won't be able to. Of course I'll want to see your 23-year-old face, but never again will you be 3-years-old wanting your Mommy to cuddle you like that, and no matter how hard I try to memorize you, I know I'll forget some things. I desperately wanted to go grab my camera - but the flash would change your face as I saw it, or it would make you crinkle your nose or eyes as you startled from the sound or the light, or I couldn't get as close to you with a camera as my own face was without a blurry image. I desperately wanted to be able to draw like Uncle Erick does, so I could go in the other room and sketch you exactly as you were tonight. But, I know I can't. I even thought about telling him my memories and having him create artwork for me... but no description could ever capture you exactly right, and perhaps the whole image would be lost in translation.

And, that's why I cried... that's why I cry. I want to remember those big, beautiful, blue eyes that look brown in the darkness of your room. I want to remember how they look as you try to wipe your mind of anything and everything, yet as they stare past me with deep thought about anything and everything. I want to memorize how those little eyelids fall slowly and then for longer periods of time before opening again only for a few seconds before eventually staying closed. The way your left hand cradles your left cheek and snuggles against the pillow. The way your pinky finger lays nearly perfectly at your nostril and your ring finger practically covers your left eye. Your long, dark eyelashes and your soft, gentle eyebrows. The contour of your right cheek illuminated by the glow of the little sheep nightlight and how your chin looks more and more defined. The smallness of your shoulder and the innocence of your Batman pajamas that drape it. The wrinkles on the outside of your right hand as it curls up into mine. How warm and cozy you are under your blue and white striped comforter. The way your hair looks so cool and slightly spiky at your forehead - making you look almost too grown up - as it begins to dry from your evening bath. The smell of your clean sheets mixed with the scent of your shampoo. The whirr of your noise machine, and how the darkness of the room makes everything slightly blurred. It's knowing that with each passing day, you are growing and changing, and time marches on while I'm desperate to capture this face at this point in time and no real way of doing so. I have to rely on my memory, and I know it will fail me when I try to recall you at this very age later on. Because, truth be told, I can't recall the exact way you looked at 2-years versus 1-year old. And even the images I have of you in my memory of when you were a baby, it's just not the same as capturing the real-life moment.

So forgive me that I cried in your bed after you fell asleep. It's like I told you at dinner tonight: sometimes people cry when they are very, very happy. You make me so very, very happy, Angel Baby. And, for that, I will never apologize!

I love you more than you could ever possibly know!
Love,
Mommy