Happy/Sad boy

This is my fourth post in participation with the Just Write challenge over at The EO.

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You've been awake so much today, which was wonderful because you talked and cooed and smiled at me for the first six hours of the day. But by the time you were tired, you were angry tired. Poor little boy. Your eyes were rimmed with red - you needed sleep so badly. But, my poor baby, you had gas pains too and you fought falling asleep. Even after you finally shut your tired eyes, your sleep was fitful. Jolting awake with tears and anger. I think maybe the big helping of broccoli I had last night did not agree with you. Point taken, Little Man.

You finally fell asleep hard on the way to Momma's meeting tonight and, like I good boy who is considerate of Momma and what she needs to get done, you slept the whole time. So grateful for you. Every day. You woke up just in time to show off your smile to everyone there. You little heart throb you.

But in the car on the way home, you got angry. You lost binky and it pissed you off. Poor kid. At a stop light I reached back and gave it back to you. Not thirty seconds later you spit it out again and were screaming at me. Binky was not gonna cut it. And your cries slay me these days. They have gotten more and more pitiful as you have gotten bigger. When you were brand new, your cries were practically a reason for celebration - use those lungs baby boy! If they meant anything at all, it was simply that you were hungry. Now, you cry because you're angry. You cry because you're sad. You cry because you're tired. You cry because you hurt. And it kills Mommy. I literally have a physical reaction to the sound. So I arch back and stretch to reach you, leaving one hand on the wheel and my eyes on the road. I'm sure this is just about the most unsafe thing I can do. But I can't help it. I know I can comfort you, which makes it impossible for me not to. I let you suck on my finger, and you're semi-content. Irritated that I'm trying to trick you, but appeased for now.

As soon as we're home, it's straight to the couch. Boppy, burp rag, nursing. You're frantic - like you've been starving for days. After a few minutes, you finally start to calm. A few minutes more, and you're my happy boy again. I'm so relieved. My heart is literally warm. Maybe a little fuzzy. I'm staring at your face and I lean in closer and closer until our noses are almost touching. Hello, my son.

The Weight of You

This is my third post in participation with the Just Write challenge.
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We’re sitting on the couch after a movie. It’s definitely Mommy’s bedtime, but we have to wait for Dad to put the sheets back on the bed. I don’t mind because it means a few more minutes of this. This wonderful cuddling we are doing. You are passed out on my shoulder – out like a light. Your little body has already gotten so heavy, and I feel the limp weight of you hanging on my shoulder like a sack of rice. The sweetest sack of rice you could possibly imagine.

There is a burning deep underneath my left shoulder blade from leaning awkwardly to my right to keep you comfortable, but I can ignore it for a while longer. It’s worth it to have your soft, chubby little cheek resting against mine. Sitting like this I can feel your heavy, sleepy breath against my neck. I can smell your sweet, milky smell. Your fingers curl sporadically against my back. Your cheeks flinch and your eyelids flutter with your dreams. What is it you dream about, sweet boy? Am I in there somewhere?

The burning is too much, so I sadly shift back to my left. You fall away from my cheek. At least now I can get a look at you. I notice the way your hair is starting to thin. I was hoping you would keep your hair, but I know I’ll love a bald baby, too. Your perfect lips are working, pursing and relaxing in your dreams. I think that dream must have something to do with at least one part of me.

How are you possible? You little bundle of perfection. I feel the weight of you, heavy on my chest and immense in my heart.

A fall day

This post is my second contribution to the Just Write challenge.

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So far, it’s been the best sort of fall. The kind that lasts. Not the kind that is spoiled by a sudden freeze, leaving dead brown leaves to fall, wilted and sad. At least not yet. So far there has been the slow progression of color I hope for every year. Some trees are still completely green, which gives me hope for a few more weeks of mild weather and rainbow leaves.

I’m driving up Benton Ave and the tall trees - what are they? ash? cotton wood? oak? I know nothing about these things - on either side of the street are mostly golden. Not a lot of red or orange in this stretch, just a brilliant yellow. Gold flakes float down in front of my windshield. My tires cause a swirling and twirling of the sea of gold on the road.

Scanning the radio, I land on a Louis Armstrong track. I’ve never heard the song before, but really – how could you mistake that voice? I think of my Grandma Nicki bopping her big hips to the You’ve Got Mail soundtrack. Biting her bottom lip with a smile in her eye.

You’ve Got Mail. There’s a good flick – with a fellow lover of fall. “A bouquet of freshly sharpened pencils.” That always makes me smile. It was one of Grandma’s favorite movies. Probably still is. I feel that old familiar pang of sadness at the loss of those sweet times.

The Drive Home

This post is part of the Just Write challenge, and will hopefully become the first in a series of Tuesday posts here on my blog.

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Listening to classical music on YPR, it’s already dark as I drive home from my afternoon of grocery shopping. My feet are aching and I feel like I could sleep right here. I’m dreading how many trips it will take to unload all of this.

You flutter low in my belly. “Hey, kiddo” I say, brushing my hand across my ever-growing bump.

We enter the s-curve of Valley Drive and I see a dead rabbit on the side of the road. That familiar sink settles into my chest. I wonder if you will be a softy like me. Swinging left I see the moon sitting fat and orange just above the hills on the east edge of the valley. The sinking feeling leaves and I wonder if you will be as in love with the little things of this world as I am.

59. That’s what the temperature gauge in our Jeep reads. Thank the lord, it’s finally starting to cool down. I’m glad I wore my jeans today.

Final left turn onto Main St – almost home. I remind myself to keep it under the speed limit. I repeat my new motto, “Drive like there’s an infant in the car.” Because really, there already is.