At first, I was o.k. with it. A new born baby needs to be close to his parents. Your small cries could not carry down the hall to my ears. Also, needing to eat lots, made it necessary for you to stay at the foot of our bed. It was given, not to mention giving you a full wardrobe change at 12:30 a.m. and then again at three. It was enough to muster the strength to walk five steps but to actually enter another room? Unthinkable. Then it came. Your reflux kept me up. Not you, me. I would listen toyou gurgle and sigh, totally ignorant to the fact that I was counting your breaths a nd gags and creeping to the edge of the bed to make sure all was fine. Then I was ready. Get that basement complete, move that baby in his own room for both of our sanity. For all (Aaron too) of our sanity. Yet, four months later and we are still waiting.You still sleep in a portable crib at our feet. At least you do sleep, most of the time.
Yet, I watched you last night as you feel asleep effortlessly, in your peanut swaddle. I looked at that still body, which in a wakeful state is never still any more. Oh, it is good you are still here in my room. With all that goes on with the others: dressing dolls, doing hair, doing homework,laying down the law and practicing Krypto. I need a retreat I share with you. So I can glance at that even countenance as I ready myself for bed. So when I wake, I can glance at you usually peacefully sleeping. So I can play Sting and Eric Clappton lullabies for you.
Not to say, I won't rejoice once you move, but I will cherish the thought that we had that time where I was forced to keep you close to me.
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