Last night about an hour after we put Danny down we heard him start to cry. I went upstairs and, as usual, he was standing up in his crib. No matter how sleepy he is, he simply must try and stand up whenever he wakes. So here is the poor little guy, with his eyes half-closed, crying this pathetic little “aaaahhhhhhh”.
Poor baby. I scooped him up in a gentle hug and sat down in the rocker with his head nestled right under my collar bone. He was already asleep again I’m pretty sure, but I rocked him for a while and my mind wandered. Then it dawned on me how wonderful it felt to sense the little breaths he’d take—his stomach against mine. So sweet and peaceful.
As I held him I remembered back to a time when I was watching TV with my dad. I was maybe 3 or 4 years old—certainly old enough to bother him with never ending questions like “what’s going to happen next dad?” or “why did he go in that room dad?” (I don’t know how he put up with me in retrospect.)
But the point of my story is that I remember sitting on his lap and deciding to try to breathe at the same rate as he was. Of course as an adult he naturally breathed much more slowly than a child would, but there I was, trying to inhale and exhale in unison with him. I think I soon realized that this was a none to easy thing to do and gave up, but I clearly remember feeling so happy to be sitting with my dad.
So, last night while my one year old and I rocked, I didn’t try to breathe in unison with him. But I felt that same sense of happiness I remembered from that day long ago. Funny how my son often stirs up for me what I like to think of as primordial memories. And I think that's a really cool thing. -Monica
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