on 20 December 2010

The Boy woke up at 6:30 in the morning.

We don't get up at 6:30 in the morning in Burnstopia unless we have to travel.  So I lay there with my head under the pillow hoping that he would go back to sleep.

He did not, and he was clearly upset.

I padded silently through the cold dark living room into his bedroom.  He was standing in his crib tearfully pleading, "Cuddle Mommy.  Cuddle Mommy.  Cuddle Mommy."  So I sighed and lifted him up to cradle in my arms.

Cradling the Boy is nothing short of comical these days.  He's all arms and legs and lean muscle.  We sat in the rocking chair and his thin little legs dangled over the arm of the chair.

back and forth.  back and forth.  back and forth went the chair.

After 15 minutes I was now cold and the Boy was still pleading sadly, "Cuddle Mommy."  So I cradled him in my arms and we went back to the warm comfort of Bed Sweet Bed. 

The Boy gratefully snuggled under the pile of covers against my chest.  He was still and quiet and so we dozed for another half an hour until the increasing light around the windows prompted the Boy that it was now time to play.

It was a day ordinary, and yet not.  There were diapers to wash and groceries to buy.  There was frustration and discipline.  There were books to be read and a nap for the Boy.  Eventually, Chris made a pot of soup for dinner and I composed some grilled cheese sandwiches to accompany it.

There was a bath for the Boy and lotion and pajamas and scriptures and prayers.  And then there was one last cuddle in the rocking chair.

back and forth.  back and forth.  back and forth went the chair.

As I sat in the dark room, rocking my Boy, I realized that I had been in the exact same situation first thing that morning.  And sometimes it's hard to tell morning from evening, coming or going.  And I was forcefully reminded of another back and forth moment.

When we lived in a podunk little town in western Washington state, I used to run from our house the two and half miles downhill to the sound.  I would sit on a big rock and watch the small waves lapping at the rocky shoreline.  I never could tell if the tide was coming in or going out. 

back and forth.  back and forth.  back and forth went the water.

Sometimes I think the days are almost indistinguishable from one another.  They blend into a cycle of meals and naps and bedtime routines.  They  become these round robins of tasks to perform and errands to run.  And yet.  They are so liberally sweetened by moments like these.  If we just sit still long enough to taste them.


Metta said...

I love it Melissa!

Rae said...

beautifully written. Motherhood and tides are a lot alike, aren't they? Always the same, always changing.

Katrina said...

so beautiful and true.

Brett said...

You're so good. You should be a writer or something. ;-)

Cel and JP said...

that was so sweet and good for my soul. thank you.