He cried because he had a burp stuck in his throat. I came to his room, picked him up, easing him of his sleepy struggles. Standing, I placed him on my chest so his head would gently rest under my chin, and I would feel his soft hair against my face; I slowly sway.
His head turns back and forth as I pat his back, trying to help him get out the final burp of the day. He does. His head goes back and forth a little longer as he finds a comfortable place. Holding my 9 month old, his arm lopping across mine in the sleepiest of sleeps; his other arm, bent as if holding on to my chest to be sure I was still there. I smell his smells, feel his weight, note his size, hear his mouth making the final soft smacking noises before going right back to sleep…like he had a good meal, licked his 4 teeth and his gums and is ready for his nights rest.
I know I will never get this back. I will never again feel these sensations, smell him this way, hear his noises that I try to burn into my mind. There’s no real way to record this. We will have no more children; my memory will falter. I am grateful for having him, and my other 2, and being able to experience all of this with each of them.
I am saddened that this chapter of my life, of having such young children, will pass in a butterfly’s flutter.
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2 comments:
This was so beautiful.
You captured it with your words in a way that brought tears to my eyes.
I had to stumble this. I want as many people as possible to read this.
Thank you Vered for the kind comments and the stumble.
He is growing so quickly and I fear missing even one moment that I could make a memory.
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