The other afternoon you woke up early from your nap – because you rolled over and smacked yourself in the head (see, I told you) and then immediately started screaming. When I went in to see what all the ruckus was about, it was apparent you had also crapped your pants. So, I dried your tears and wiped your butt and then decided I was going to attempt what had never been attempted before: try to put you down for your nap again. I bundled you up, sat you on my lap and rocked in the chair. The beautiful thing is that it worked. You were still sleepy and you sat and sucked your thumb and then you fell fast asleep. I sat there pondering whether I should put you back in your crib or just continue to hold you and let you sleep in my lap. I chose the later.
It had been a long time since you slept in my lap. I thought back to when you were only a few months old and I would spend hours carrying you around the house in your sling, with a blanket over your head. I would answer emails or we would take a long stroll around the neighborhood. I got to know your breathing patterns like the back of my hand. And as I sat there with you the other day, I was so glad I had made the decision to let the looming deadlines wait and the phone calls go unanswered for just that little moment in time. I was able to experience your familiar breathing patterns again and when you woke up about 45 minutes later, my feet had fallen asleep, but it didn’t matter. You looked up at me with from the puddle of drool you left on my chest, rubbed your eyes and smiled. I filed that memory under “H” for Heaven.
