It’s times like these when I realize how lovely you truly are: your perfect skin, your long eyelashes, and the fluff of spun sugar floating atop your little round head. You snore and sleep while I marvel at you.
In your monster pajamas, I wonder at your juxtaposing selves. The angelic child asleep in his crib versus the busy body that is nonstop action all day. Today you were in a hitting and climbing mood. You hit the dog, you hit the cat, you hit me, your sister and your dad. You came up to every one of us murmuring, “Niiii, niiii?” We warily looked at you and then you would hit us. Again, you would coo, “Niiii, niii?” and then kiss us, stroke us lovingly and hug us. The cycle would continue over and over as we would instruct you not to hit, try to teach you hands are not for hitting and then we deposited you in your room. Someday you’ll get it.
I picked up your monster pajamas today at Costco and put them in the cart.  It was just me and you, a rare mother and boy excursion into the world, without a sister or father along for the ride. You reached for your monster pajamas and held them to your ear. You nuzzled them, caressed them and I stroked your peachy cheek. You give your hugs and kisses sparingly, perhaps I was jealous of the attention you were giving your pajamas, but it was a pleasure to be able to touch you in a moment of quietness in the middle of Costco and not have my hand pushed away.
One of the things I love best about you is your love of footwear. You love your boots: your dog boots, your frog boots, your puppy slippers and now your monster feet which are at the tippy-toes of your new monster jams. I roared at you as I showed them to you. Only then would you stop fighting my attempts to ready you for bed and resigned yourself to getting dressed for the evening, after your bath. You ran out to show your daddy your hip new jams with the monster toes, roaring all the way, leaving in your wake the fresh scent of baby shampoo.
Finally, we are all exhausted. You and your sister are asleep, and I can’t help but sneak into your room to look at your sleeping form one last time before I retire. You sleep like you play: hard. You don’t wince as the flash goes off, over and over, in an attempt to capture this moment of you, my sweet sleeping baby. I know again tomorrow that you’ll try my limits, wear me out, hit me, climb stuff that you shouldn’t climb and run all day long, but for now I can’t take my eyes off of you.  I’ll accept your little smacks and hits because sometimes it is a kiss or hug instead. I shake my head and laugh when you again climb on the coffee table, then feign a stern voice and remove you to safer ground. I watch you as you breathe in and out, sleeping and still. I love you with every bit of my being, so grateful that tomorrow I’ll get to chase you.
*And here that boy is, on the coffee table the next morning. Beautiful Crazy Boy.
- BROWSE / IN TIMELINE
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