Holding on to a Moment

As I sit in the blue chair at 3:00 a.m. and nurse Brock through a bought of hunger, I close my eyes and think about how I "only" have four more months of this.  I feel the darkness envelope my body and feel his soft, chubby hand glide over my chest and land in my hair.  I look down to him and watch his hungry mouth drink in delight as his eyes remain closed in the safety of my warm arms.  I feel his weight fill my folded legs and notice how his hair has grown over the last seven and a half months.  How has this time passed so quickly?  Wasn't it only yesterday that we were choosing his middle name?

As his hunger turns to a tired, satisfied slumber I gently stand and hold him for just a moment, feeling his head on my shoulder.  I rub his tiny back and feel the soft pill of his pajamas.  His warm breath on my neck and a few last suckling noises leave his full, red lips and I know he is calm and ready for his bed.  I stand in front of his crib and gently glide him back to his belly and know he is well.

I know I will not remember each of these feedings, I know I will not remember exactly how his palm felt against my skin, but I will try and savor in it while it is here.  I know I will watch him turn into a man and attempt to squeeze myself back inside my mind's eye of that blue chair.  Groping for the exact feel of his weight in my lap and look of his cheeks.

How quickly it all moves from moment to moment.  Wanting to close our eyes to get a moment of sleep...to closing our eyes to try and remember a moment.

We think that their hands will be soft and chubby and ours forever.  We believe that their toes will always be this small and that if we could just get them to sleep through the night, everything would be perfect.  But then they do, and our moment of quiet is gone.

I know Brock is my last to be held in the middle of the night.  I know he is the last to hold onto at 3:00 a.m. with his head nestled gentle in my arm.  He is my last to crawl to me, hold my finger while he sleeps and breathe into my neck with complete satisfaction.  He is the last that I will hear a doctor say "it's a boy!"  He is the last to nurse, the last to carry within me, the last to wonder what it will sound like when he says, "ma ma."

I do savor each moment, each day, each touch, because I know.  I know one day he won't need me anymore.  One day he will grow and love someone else and she will look at him while he sleeps.  But today he is still all mine to love and hold and cherish, and for today, I will do what I can to make it last just a few minutes more....

Click COMMENTS to leave a comment!!!