by tracybanaszynski

Naptime. H is showing tired cues: He’s yawning and wants to be in my arms. We get into bed together. He nurses and then rolls away onto his tummy and gets up on all fours. He rocks back and forth, practicing crawling. I pull him back and offer him the second side. He nurses some more and then rolls away to practice crawling again. He’s all over the bed, rolling and scooting backwards. I assess the situation. He’s not sleeping.

We get out of bed and read Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes, There’s a Wocket in my Pocket!, Hop on Pop, and Horns to Toes And In Between. He seems alert, so we play. He picks up the stroller toy that we never actually used on the stroller, and I wonder if it would look good on the wall above his changing table. We play with his cone sorting toy. He takes it apart, and I think of ways to put the pieces together to make things other than a cone. It becomes a merry-go-round, a tree, a hut. He seems tired again. He’s getting a bit frantic, throwing the pieces of the cone sorting toy around.

We get into bed together. He nurses and then rolls away onto his tummy. He’s practicing crawling again. I think about how persistently he pursues his goals. It’s admirable. I pull him back and offer him the second side. He nurses some more and then rolls away again. He shakes his head and kicks his feet. He’s seeming more and more frantic by the second, but he’s still not sleeping. Do I wait this out in bed or do I get up and wear him? I decide to wear him.

We get up and I put him in Babyhawk. We do a few things around the house together, wash the wool insert from his nighttime diaper, make a phone call to the library about where to drop off donated books. I know he’s tired. He’s yawning and rubbing his eyes and he becomes unhappy when I make the phone call. We bounce. He’s still unhappy, and now he looks tired. I can see it in his eyes.

We get into bed together. He nurses and then rolls away. I pull him into me and curl around him. He resists, his legs kicking, his torso twisting toward me then away from me as he continues to nurse. He rolls away again. I feel my body tense. I want to leave him in bed and run away. Why isn’t he sleeping? I wonder if it would be bad to throw him out the window. Yes, I decide that would be bad. I promised him in the hospital that I would never leave him. We’re in this together, I told him, I’ll never leave you. I stayed with him as much as I could, day in, day out, through a spinal tap and an IV inserted in a vein in his head. I stay with him now. Breathe in, breathe out, smile comes to mind. Thank you Summer. I breathe deeply in and out and soften my face into a small smile. I feel my body relax. He’s not giving me a hard time, he’s having a hard time. Thank you Michele. I can wait it out so that you don’t have to cry it out. Thank you Sarah. I offer him the second side. I can feel his body relaxing. He stays latched. I think of my sister, my first wait it out friend. We’ve had each other since the beginning, before I knew I would make so many other wait it out friends. Thank goodness for my sister. I think of Lisa and E in Ohio, Emilie and H in California, Sara and her little ones. Where is Sara? I make a note to find out. I think of Emily and her H in Canada somewhere. I think of Nora and her little one in Oregon. I think of Ashley and S in Missouri. I think of Nicole and L, Jen and her little ones, Kelly and her little one. I think of meeting Kristine and P on Tuesday. I think of Rosie. I think of Kaci. They are all in bed with me and H, all these wonderful mothers and their babies.

His breathing has slowed and his body is still. He’s sleeping.

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