My son found a journal I had started some years ago. It dates back to the time I had my first son, I think though, that it may just apply with any child, anywhere.
Jolted, awake, the silence ripped open. I squint, trying to read the numbers on the clock. They glare red, 4:34 am. Inwardly, i groan, pull back the covers that held me in dreams just moments ago. What started as slight whimpering increases in intensity as time ticks.
I pause, straining my ears to hear if whimper give way to sleep. No sound, I sigh and relax. Too late, I waited too long, cries split the stillness, amplified by the hour and its lateness.
Void of glasses or contacts, I stumble toward his room. making a quick pit stop. I take fifteen quick seconds to myself and will him to wait only a moment to two more.
Retrieving the bottle left in the warmer from the last go around, I am thankful for 2 items: the light from the overhead stove and organization. Without them, cries would soon develop into screams.
I wander into his room and make my way to the crib. A nightlight given to him by his grandmother shine softly to guide me while a CD his father made plays in the background. “O Come all Ye Faithful” does not sound so out-of-place at this hour. I smile faintly.
Wrapped in yellow he flails his arms, waiting for security once again. He whimpers, then quiets as he sees I am near. Scooping him in my arms, we travel to the livingroom floor where wet becomes dry and I try to snuggle him once more.
It’s a makeshift cocoon and I figure if he feels safe, he won’t mind so much how the blanket looks as it swaddles him. Settled in our chair, I cuddle him close, he squirms, anticipating the bottle he is sure is coming,
He sighs as I place it within his reach and I feel his whole body relax. Eyes grow droopy and his breathing softens, he is at peace. Sated from this feeding we burp and I rock slowly. I remind myself to take a mental picture, moments like this are too few. Head propped on my shoulder, he dozes, I rest my cheek against his and I listen.
The house comes alive at times like these. The ticking of the clock, a lone car drives by, the family dog resettling for a nap all reveal themselves. Against his cheek I feel the smooth of baby skin, cool to the touch. A slight movement of my shoulder and I discover he is smiling. Knowing and seeing this causes my face to erupt in a wide grin, and I am gifted to receive another in return.
Through the stillness, through the quiet, love transcends communication and my heart bursts. Without words or eye contact, I know love and it is real. I feel it in my son’s smile. Tears well behind my eyes as I offer a silent prayer of thanks, praises, and requests for this little wonder entrusted to my care. Again, I feel his smile and my heart soars.
He inspires me, this little miracle. With a look, a cry, a squeal, or a smile, he turns my world on its end. Sitting here in the dark, I cease to wonder the time. I find no longer care about the trivial details.
In a sigh and a smile, my son captures my heart and claims it for his own. Sniffling back tears, I pat his back, and together; we Rock.
Shalom,
cahl
cindythea
divinewrites 