If you're new here, you may want to subscribe to my RSS feed. You could also get new content delivered directly to your inbox. Thanks for stopping by!
My babies nap in separate rooms; if they didn’t, the elder baby would spend the entire time winging pacifiers toward her baby brother and giggling each time one bounced off his curly blond noggin, and this would be not be conducive to getting well-rested babies or a well-rested mommy.
So the smaller baby sleeps in a smaller crib in a different bedroom for nap time. He likes it there, so far as I can tell. He’s got a blanket just like the one in his real bed, on which he can rub his cheek while he falls asleep, and there is little danger of him being struck by errant pacifiers.
Today I’d intended to dart into that room while he was sleeping and deposit a load of laundry on the bed. I didn’t intend to stop. I was bent on scurrying away, back to my other duties in another part of the house.
But instead, I looked at him in his crib. I had to sit down on the edge of the bed and really see him. What a lovely child he’s turning out to be. A year ago I never thought he’d be in my house, much less in my house for good. And never did I think I’d be raising a baby with blond hair and blue eyes, much less two of them.
When I pictured a child I might foster and eventually be allowed to adopt, I saw only children with chocolaty skin and coffee-shaded eyes. They were the hardest to place; I was pretty open about what sort of child I could raise–seemed like a good fit. But the powers that be, whoever they might be, had other plans. I prepared myself for one thing and then got something completely different.
Maybe in another lifetime I’ll get to do what I’d originally planned?
Yesterday I sat on the bed and then eventually laid down, watching my baby boy sleeping so earnestly. He made it look like work with his hands in little fists and his forehead crinkled up. He’s still not past that sweet point where he sucks periodically at nothing as he sleeps, just like he did as an infant.
Because I’m stressed out and exhausted, I fell asleep while watching him sleep. I woke up and crept away twenty minutes (um, maybe thirty minutes?) later, back to dishes and laundry and the rest of the stuff of life. He dreamed on for anther good hour, regaining his energy for the next attack on floor-fluff and table legs.
Is there a point to this entry? Not really. I got to watch my baby–my final baby, my extra baby, my bonus baby–take his nap. And for a few brief minutes I felt like the most blessed woman in the world.
