4:34

My son  found a journal I had started some years ago.  It dates back to the time I had my first son, I think though, that it may just apply with any child, anywhere.

    Jolted,  awake, the silence ripped open.  I squint, trying to read the numbers on the clock.  They glare red, 4:34 am.  Inwardly, i groan, pull back the covers that held me in dreams just moments ago.  What started as slight whimpering increases in intensity as time ticks.

I pause, straining my ears to hear if whimper give way to sleep.  No sound, I sigh and relax.  Too late, I waited too long, cries split the stillness, amplified by the hour and its lateness.

Void of glasses or contacts, I stumble toward his room. making a quick pit stop.  I take fifteen quick seconds to myself and will him to wait only a moment to two more.

     Retrieving the bottle left in the warmer from the last go around, I am thankful for 2 items:  the light from the overhead stove and organization.  Without them, cries would soon develop into screams.

I wander into his room and make my way to the crib.  A nightlight given to him by his grandmother shine softly to guide me while a CD his father made plays in the background.  “O Come all Ye Faithful” does not sound so out-of-place at this hour.  I smile faintly.

Wrapped in yellow he flails his arms, waiting for security once again.  He whimpers, then quiets as he sees I am near.  Scooping him in my arms, we travel to the livingroom floor where wet becomes dry and I try to snuggle him once more.

It’s a makeshift cocoon and I figure if he feels safe, he won’t mind so much how the blanket looks as it swaddles him.  Settled in our chair, I cuddle him close, he squirms, anticipating the bottle he is sure is coming,

He sighs as I place it within his reach and I feel his whole body relax.  Eyes grow droopy and his breathing softens, he is at peace.  Sated from this feeding we burp and I rock slowly.  I remind myself to take a mental picture, moments like this are too few.  Head propped on my shoulder, he dozes, I rest my cheek against his and I listen.

The house comes alive at times like these. The ticking of the clock, a lone car drives by, the family dog resettling for a nap all reveal themselves.  Against his cheek I feel the smooth of baby skin, cool to the touch.  A slight movement of my shoulder and I discover he is smiling.   Knowing and seeing this causes my face to erupt in a wide grin, and I am gifted to receive another in return.

     Through the stillness, through the quiet, love transcends communication and my heart bursts.  Without words or eye contact, I know love and it is real.  I feel it in my son’s smile.  Tears well behind my eyes as I offer a silent prayer of thanks, praises, and requests for this little wonder entrusted to my care.  Again, I feel his smile and my heart soars.

     He inspires me, this little miracle.  With a look, a cry, a squeal, or a smile, he turns my world on its end.  Sitting here in the dark, I cease to wonder the time.  I find no longer care about the trivial details.

     In a sigh and a smile, my son captures my heart and claims it for his own. Sniffling back tears, I pat his back, and together; we Rock.

Shalom,

cahl

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Life NEVER the Same!

Watching my kids today, I made several observations.  Not one to create Top Ten lists, I just have a few thoughts as a result of this thang called parenting.

There is never a moment of privacy again.–Does not matter if it is using the restroom, taking a shower, a bath…they find their way to you every time!

Never do I watch the news or read the newspaper without thinking that that is someone’s child.

New furniture has to wait until they graduate

They smell great after a bath, no matter the age.

Sleep is an unknown commodity.

Once a parent, always a parent…evidently the older they get, the more we worry.

Quality and Quantity does matter–as it relates to time spent with them

No better words  on the planet, “I love you, too.”

Best words followed by a hug, even better.

They always want in your bed.

Any words related to bowel movements, the bathroom, or other bodily functions create endless conversation.

They hear EVERYTHING

Asking their forgiveness is the most humbling moment ever, I do it–often

Kisses cover a multitude of boo boos, and hurt feelings.

Waiting for the day I can afford to have kids will never arrive.

Living vicariously through them is NEVER an option

Living the journey with them is ALWAYS an option

Both my sons challenge me to be a better human being, they are my heroes in the flesh.  I tell them every stinking day.

The day you graduate from diaper bags and car seats is victory.

Time stands still and whips too fast at the same time.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell who needs holding more, you or them.

Fascinating to see your likeness in them, whether they are biological or not.

With one smile, they can melt you heart, make you laugh, or reduce you to tears

The sound of them singing is pure bliss

The struggle to get them out of the house ASAP and to keep them forever is never-ending.

No girl will ever be good enough for my boys

Likewise, my boys will never really be good enough for someone’s daughter

No one dreams more for them than we do

Much as I love them, there is ONE who loves them more…my job is to take care until they are called home.

No one can drive me up the wall quicker, or speak to my soul deeper

Nature takes on a whole new meaning when seeing it through their eyes.

 

I think I am done for now…I thought this would be more jovial, but I have been caught by the “Jersey Girl” movie bug.  Forgive me my more serious vein tonight.

Shalom,

cahl

 

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