Moments I want to remember, this blog serves as a scrapbook of memories that I’ve managed to jot down.
I want to remember this moment. Now. And the few moments before it.
Zane nursed, fiercely, then gently, then with his eyes wide but drowsy his lower jaw started making the cute little shiver it does when he just can’t manage to suck anymore. He’s staring at me, as usual, his little mouth loose around the nipple, his body limp in my lap. I’ve dressed him in PJs since he seems to object to pants and it’s too cold for just a onsie. The footie pajamas are too short, but even though he can’t quite straighten his legs he doesn’t seem to mind. I slip my hands under both his arms, feeling the weight of a sleepy, well fed baby-heavy and compact, with a firm sort of flexibility-and lift him up to my chest, easing down into the chair to make a slope for his bed. My legs are stretched out onto another chair, amd my tailbone will be screaming by the time Zane wakes up, but it’s always worth it.
He lays his head on the bare skin between the wide v neck of my sweater, eyes still open, mouth closed, breathing cute little snuffling noises through his nose. Milk drips down one crease of his ample cheeks, stopping in a little cream bead halfway to his chin. I wipe it gently and he wiggles and then resettles. I start lightly patting his back, just above the fluffy padding of his diaper, and I watch as his face slowly begins to tilt up, his head settling back into the position gravity demands as muscles loosen and the bobble headed skull pulls down toward the shoulders. With the grace of a ballet, his eyelids begin to lower and his lips part as his chin gently drops. Halfway down his lashes flutter as his eyes roll, and then a moment of finality as the eyes close completely.
He’s lying here as I type this. Silent, heavy, his breathing in sync with my own, the rise and fall of our chests indestinguishable from each other. My heartbeat thrums in his ear, I can see his pulse along the soft skin of his neck. He just gave one of those shuddering sighs and it feels like he has melted into me, his arms draped along my sides.
These are the moments I want to remember about being a mom. There is no substitute for this feeling nor an adequate description. Having children makes me both incredibly vulnerable and incredibly reaffirmed.