I was slow dancing the baby to sleep tonight and I looked down at his face and wanted to kiss it and kiss it but I knew that one loose strand of hair would tickle his cheek and wake him up and we'd have to start the dance all over again. . .
So instead, in my head, I did what every mother must do at the end of the day: I asked, silently, "were you kissed enough today? were you hugged enough today? were you loved enough today?" That timeless question that connects us with an ageless line of mothers before us.
My heart feelers reached out to touch the hearts of my children - the one I was slow dancing into sleep and the one I had just laid down to sleep, our heads touching, trading whispers of "I wuv you bery much momma" and "I love you very much my son" - to take their love temperature. And in my mind, I replayed the kisses of the day.
I know I loaded C up with kisses right before bed, and in the quiet moments getting him dressed for bed, but he had to ask me to "put the baby down and hug me!" today. He gets significantly less face time from the momma who used to rush in every morning to rouse him and hold onto him like the world might end in 10 minutes and then I would hug and kiss him into full wakefulness.
And the baby somehow always gets less mom time when Dada's off and C's afoot. He misses me. I'm calmer when I'm with him and he's calmer when he's with me. We were made for each other.
We were ALL made for each other. C has taken to saying "we are family!" when saying his "I wuv" yous. And indeed we are. . .
I am blessed enough to be able to bear witness to these lives - to provide every kiss and hug, to make a mental tally, and write the record in my heart.
And in theirs.
And when all is written, I hope it is complete.
Sometimes. . . .
Well sometimes I am just so so tired.
And sometimes. . . .
Sometimes I remember how lucky I am.
Usually when I am kissing C’s cheeks at night.
Or inhaling the newborn baby scent off of A.
Having Baby A here with us makes me remember all over again what a blessing it all is.
I look at my sons and when I really allow myself to think on it, I am absolutely mystified. The fervency with which I love them astounds me sometimes.
But what has me really, truly awestruck is that I get to be these boys’ mother, to watch their personalities unfurl themselves right before my very eyes, to stand witness as the pure, undiluted essences of their beings flourish and fill up their growing bodies.
Words stumble and fall weak in the knees, daunted by the task of expressing the emergence of a body, the rushing forth of spirit, the creation of a whole new being, and precisely how it is that one becomes a mother.
Yes, the creation of a body is an extraordinary wonder to be sure, but guiding the development of these souls?
It is THE miracle of my life.
at 4:44 PM