The house is quiet. BigDaddyFish and my in-laws took the 3 big kids out to go shopping for some spices from the Indian grocery down the street, and to get staples at Staples (somehow, we find that funny around here, but I need staples, and that seems the logical place to get them), and Nemo is sleeping. The family room is clean and vacuumed, the dishwasher has been run, the stove is clean, the countertops wiped, and the laundry going. I am more at peace than I have been in weeks.
Just a few minutes ago, I got to sit quietly with Nemo and nurse him, then cuddle and rock him while he fell asleep. I feel so bad for him because he gets the shaft a lot of the time; because he is #4 and the other kids are still fairly young, his need to sit quietly and cuddle only gets met in the middle of the night because that's the only time the other kids aren't interfering or fighting or needing sippy cups or diapers changed or accompaniment to the bathroom or something to eat or homework checked or legos taken apart or any of the other myriad things they need on a daily or hourly basis, and in the middle of the night I'm afraid I'm not very engaging; I just want him to nurse and go back to sleep as quickly as possible so that I can get back to sleep, precious sleep that makes it so I can function and think and not be Evil Mom the next day. The other kids got the benefit of some kind of alone time with me on a regular basis, either because there weren't any other kids yet or because one or more of them were in school. But now it is rare indeed that any of the kids get any alone time with BigDaddyFish or me at all other than a few minutes of conversation at bedtime. We're working on that, but it's slow in coming, especially once someone gets sick, like we've all been recently.
So this special time with Nemo is a glorious blessing, food for my soul. I gaze into his liquid, dark chocolate eyes framed by his long lashes, feel his weight and soft skin against me. I rub his head against my cheek, feeling the soft fuzz of his hair, inhaling the sweet baby smell of his head. I trace the edge of his pink, slightly pointy ear with my finger (I wonder which side has the vulcan blood). I tickle his chin, smile widely at his toothless grin, return his coos and squeals. Too quickly this time will be gone, my baby will be a toddler. Will he still want to cuddle? Will he find delight in our closeness? Or will he be busy, busy running and climbing and jumping and talking and digging in dirt and finding bugs and running trucks and vacuuming (yes, little boys do that around here) and all those wonderful active things that little boys do, too busy to slow down and sit a while with his mom? Will he prefer the wild chaos that is his siblings, or will he be more solitary like his father? His personality is still too hidden for me to tell.
So while Nemo's essense emerges, I will bask in our closeness, enjoy our moments of blissful peace, and live in the moment, these last precious moments of infancy. For he is my last baby, and babyhood, as we all know, is all too fleeting. I don't want the craziness of our lives to make me forget to appreciate it and wallow in the depth of Nemo's baby love for all it's worth.
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Posted by: Uncle Orca | January 29, 2007 at 12:31 PM