For my first Mother’s Day as a brand new momma, Blake splurged and bought me….
… a vacuum.
It was a Dyson and I was overjoyed about it 😉
In all honesty, he had bought it previously to aid in my endless quest to clear the half-ton of sand brought up from the beach on dogs’ and children’s feet from our house each night, and it had just happened to arrive on Mother’s Day.
My true Mother’s Day gift had arrived in the pre-dawn hours, earlier that day.
In the charcoal light, I had been jolted awake by Henry’s cry. Over the past few days, he had been going through a phase of waking frequently in the night, often with a desperate cry. As always, my eyes flew open and my mind had lurched itself awake. As I flung the covers off and swung my legs out of bed, Blake’s hand reached for my arm. “I’ll get him”, he mumbled. I hesitated. Nighttime duty was usually mine, not for any lack of effort on Blake’s part, but mostly because half the time, he didn’t even wake up to Henry’s protests.
Reluctantly, I conceded and got back under the covers as Blake donned my terrycloth bathrobe and headed for the kitchen to bottle up before attempting to soothe Henry back to sleep. I lay awake in the dark. It was 3:30am and I listened quietly to Blake’s soft chatter to Henry.
Unfortunately, after two bottles, two attempts at settling him and an hour later, Henry was still belting out his best cries.
“Sorry babe”, Blake apologized, handing me the bottle as I padded out of our bedroom.
Once in the nursery, Henry’s screams amplifed. In the disorenting dark, I felt with my hands for his body in the crib and brought him into my arms. His stiff body, taught with anger, froze, then melted against my chest. His snotty, tear-soaked cheek rested against mine as I held him, slowly and wordlessly rocking side-to-side. In the silence, a tiny breath of air escaped from his lips and his contented murmur drifted across the silent, dark room.
In that moment, I held my breath and squeezed my eyes tightly, willing myself to emblazon this moment into my consciousness. To hold it in my memory for years to come – when he inevitably breaks or loses something precious, leaves socks strewn about, crashes the family car or morphs into a sullen teen that yells “I HATE YOU!”.
But for now, he is my precious sweet-cheeked baby boy, clinging to his mother.
I wiped his face carefully and laid his sleeping, chubby body in his crib. I couldn’t have asked for a greater Mother’s Day gift.
|at 2 days old|