She asked that I hold her.
So I did. For five months I held her in my arms as she slept through her morning nap. She would have it no other way. We would sit and rock in the cool darkness of the room I'd labored over with love and carefully pieced together in soft pink and blue tones. And when she craved movement, we would rock and sway to gushing white noise. I would hold her until my arms went numb, and her baby-soft, nine-pound body felt more like 50.
Because she needed me. She needed me to carry her burden of adapting. Of understanding. Of becoming in this new place so different from her last. She needed me to guide her through it until she had the eyes to see. The hands to reach. The legs to stand. The voice to speak.
Tomorrow, she turns 10 months old. My Sosie. My sweet, once-colicky, mama-clinging, curious-as-a-kitten, busy-as-a-bee, belly screechin', banana lovin' Sosie.
These days, she sleeps in her own bed. We still dance to the "ocean" in her room until I lay her down, and she turns onto her tummy, limbs all smushed in and tightly tucked beneath her body. But she knows. And I know. That she would let me hold her forever. Or at least until she naps. no. longer.
When I was exhausted from little sleep and all the carrying and rocking and bouncing and picking up and putting down gave me an achy back.
When I was frustrated because she was frustrated and I didn't have all the answers and why won't she just sleep in her crib already?
When I was worried because her nose was snotty, my nose was snotty, and did she get enough milk?
When I was sad because it felt like we were all alone in this and the days were slow and the reward was out of reach.
He carried me so that I could carry her.
No comments:
Post a Comment