Each day I spread my love. Four people in this house besides me, all deserving and it feels there's not enough of me for all I wish I could give.
And so I see my baby boy, all smiles, just happy to look into my eyes. And I set him down, hoping the toys will keep him happy for just a few minutes - I'll be back, I assure us both.
While I help the big girl with the potty and the middle boy who sometimes cries for reasons unknown. And I make dinner to feed them all and I wash the laundry and I move, from one thing to the next, missing one moment, then another.
And then it's naptime. And all three lay down - even though that littlest could probably be awake a little longer, I know he'll sleep now and he'll sleep for awhile. And isn't nice to have them all asleep at the same time? So I can have my time.
My time to get things done. My time to recover from the noise. My time to let the stress which may have built through the morning seep out into the quietness of the afternoon.
And hope that it lasts. For just as long as I need.
But then come days like today. When that youngest, whose chubby thighs felt three needles today, needles to ward off the possibility of a greater sickness, sleeps a little longer than I expected. And I open the door to be sure his tiny back is still moving up and down, up and down. And when he finally wakes, much later than anticipated, I can feel, through his barely-there hair, the heat of a body just trying to process it all.
And this baby boy has no smile. Only tears. Cries of discomfort and longing. Longing for relief.
And all I can do is hold him. There are baths to be had, teeth to brush, bedtime stories to read. And all I can do is hold him. I give thanks for a husband who can take care of the needs. While I hold.
And is this what it takes? A fever? A weary boy? A hurt I can't fix. Is this what it takes to slow my rushing body? To give me the time to hold him? To just hold him?
Where am I when the smiles flow freely? When the hurt has gone away? Am I there to hold? Or am I turning away - to meet those other needs. To spread myself a little more. Just enough to cover it all.
I am grateful to be needed. But let me take these moments as reminders that the good moments, the happy days, require just as much of my time, my holding, as those days when my arms are the only comfort to give.
624. A cool washcloth on a too-warm forehead
625. Blue lollipops at the doctor's office
627. A cool morning
628. An afternoon phone call
629. Long-distance communication
630. Holding the stethoscope
631. Blue bandages to make the pain easier
632. 16 lbs and 10 oz of Baby Boy
Photos of the Day:
Snuggling with my Sickie