…
I’m sitting, as I do for several hours each day, in the chair in the baby’s nursery. Feet up, I have my perfect little girl stretched across my lap, completely milk drunk. She’s got her arms up and a little smile curls her lips as her long eyelashes flutter gently – I hope she’s having a good dream.
I can hear her breath, slow and steady – a noise I often pause and hunt for in the night or when I poke my head in to check on her during daytime naps. She fell asleep too early, and not according to our normal routine, but I’m giving her (and myself) grace. My first instinct was to be frustrated at the break in our routine, but I tell myself that she had a busy day, fought all her naps and played with her Nana – she deserves this rest, snuggled up against my chest. I’ll try not to worry about the impact this early evening will have on our overnight sleep – I haven’t been sleeping well regardless and, in any case, I often find the nights that I’m sure will be a problem are the ones she sleeps the most. For now, I just relish the opportunity to watch over her, inspecting and memorizing each bit of her face at this moment in time.
It’s funny – this started as an ode to my chair. That’s what I set out to write. The chair that I was nervous to ask for, because it was expensive. The chair that I joked about and my husband teased me for, because it’s a fancy recliner. The chair I was worried wouldn’t get much use, when I was nursing my baby in bed every night. Then, one night, I decided to get up and go into the nursery, and everything shifted. Instead of being frustrated, trying to get comfortable and positioned correctly in bed, trying desperately not to fall back asleep while my baby nursed, I gave myself the opportunity to make space for what I needed. I no longer had to worry about moving too much and disturbing my husband or about spilling milk on my sheets. This chair supports me, secures us and, yes, has even protected us when my eyes are just to heavy to keep open. I love my chair deeply, but this isn’t an ode to my chair.
No, it’s a love letter to my daughter, who is growing up too fast but to whom I have nevertheless whispered “Please grow big and strong, my love” every day since I found out she was in my belly. She has obligingly complied, hungry since I first met her and growing like a weed. Every day I am amazed that she chose me to be her mom and I want to work hard to prove to her that I deserve the honor. There will be many more love letters to come, many accomplishments and celebrations and hard moments to fight through. There will also be infinitely more mundane moments that take my breath away and make me cry silent, thankful, happy tears when I take the time to stop and appreciate them.
So sleep tight, baby girl. I’ll sit here in our chair and work on memorizing your features, so that even as they change and you grow bigger and stronger, I will be able to remember this perfect moment – you at twelve weeks old, sound asleep and completely at peace, sprawled across my lap – and me, fully and entirely in love.
Hickmans at Home 