Baby Mine

I am sitting on Joshua’s bed as Jonah lays across me, nursing ardently before bed.  The room is dark, his blankie lays across his chest, and he is focused on the task at hand.  I’ve got one arm under his shoulders, and one arm under his bum, and his long no-longer-a-baby-legs hang off my lap and dangle heavily in the space between the bed and the floor.

How did it come to pass that my baby no longer fits snugly in my arms?  It seems like yesterday that his little body barely spanned the width of my chest when he curled against me to nurse.

Sleepily he reaches out with his left arm and grabs my hair, running his hand the length of it.  He pushes my face to the side so he can get to my ear, makes a grab at my earring.  Recreational activities, fighting sleep while he nurses.  Funny baby, I am still his favorite toy.  I am wearing my glasses tonight and he gets them about half off of my face before I can pry his fingers off of them.  Giving up, he turns his attention to his own ear – like his older brother, he plays with it when he’s tired.

I kiss his face and stroke his hair, I kiss his little fingers and bury my lips in his chubby cheeks.  I love my sweet baby boy so much it hurts.  Just yesterday I was complaining as I was pumping out a bottle of milk so Bobby and I could go out, but I will be sad when he weans. He’s my last little nursey baby.

How did he get so big? He will be 13 months old this week.  Soon he will be too busy to cuddle his mama, to play with my hair, to want to be mine and to want me to be his.

He unlatches himself and gives me a milky, sleepy smile.  I squeeze him tight, kiss those pink cheeks again, and gently place him in his crib with his bevy of blankies.  He rolls over, gripping one tightly.

Good night, baby mine.  Try not to grow too much tonight while you sleep.