time warp

When The Boy was an infant he was a nurse-a-holic. I nursed him forever. It was easily a 2-3 hour nursing fest each night to get him to sleep. This was especially frustrating to me, since I work from home in the evenings and am expected to be on-line and available during the time that The Boy simply would not stop nursing and fall asleep already. My dear husband wisely reminded me at that time just how awful I felt when The Babe no longer fell asleep in my arms, that she had grown and didn't need me in that way any longer. I took this reminder to heart, and started to appreciate the time with The Boy that the marathon nursing afforded me.

Well, it's been almost exactly one year since The Boy has been weaned. Even before he stopped nursing, he rarely fell asleep in my arms any more. It's one of those bittersweet moments of motherhood. Look at how big my child has grown! But at the same time, where is my baby? All of you who have been through this know exactly what I am talking about.

This past Friday, I got to have a time warp. For whatever reason, The Boy was unusually restless in his sleep Friday night. He woke up whimpering, I would go to calm him and he would seem to fall asleep. 20 minutes later, same thing. Then 10 minutes later, same thing. I finally realized that perhaps a change of scenery might do him some good. I took my sleepy boy from his big boy bed and we sat in the same rocking chair in my bedroom that we used to sit in every night before bed time. The same rocking chair that has gone largely unused for about a year now.

Something about it felt like home. It felt so right to sit in that chair with The Boy in my arms. No, he wasn't nursing, but it didn't matter. I held The Boy in my arms and slowly rocked as he fell asleep. I listened to him breathe, and I heard his breathing change from awake to asleep. Once I knew he was asleep, I held him in my arms like that for a long time. Treasuring it. Who knows when that will happen again?

As I carried The Boy back to his room, I completed the ritual that used to be ours every night, and mine and The Babe's before that. I walked past the mirror and looked at the child in my arms. I used to do this nightly to see if I could tell how much he had grown in a day. Did his legs hang lower? Did I need to carry him differently now? As I walked past the mirror Friday night and looked at The Boy, he was, just for a moment, an infant in my arms again.

I miss holding my children as they fall asleep probably more than any other part of their infancy. While each new day brings a new joy, a new accomplishment, it's rare when we get the time warp, and the opportunity to go back. It was a pleasure, one that I will carry with me always.