It is so magical to watch you fall asleep in my arms. You have a harder time falling asleep and staying asleep, so you and I spend many hours together in the wee hours of the night and morning. This past week you traveled to California with us, and the jet lag has thrown off your sleep schedule. En route to California, you slept heavy on my chest, your warm little body keeping me cozy. On the return trip, I walked the length of the aisle with you in my arms, your head dropping until you finally dozed on my shoulder.
Tonight I walked the basement, pacing the short distance from the bookshelves to the couch. Your cries weakened until they stopped, and you yawned. Your head began to drop against my shoulder, each time longer than the last.
I love you so much, it takes my breath away. Your scent, your breath, your smiles, your laughs, your eyes, your ears, your hair, your skin. I could drown in your delicious baby-ness. I love how you gently trace my hair and face with your fingertips when your nurse, or how you subconsciously knead my arms or back with your soft baby hands. As you fall asleep your fingers find me, as if to be certain I’m still there. I love how you turn toward me with open mouth and eager fingers, full of cuddly baby kisses and nuzzling baby hugs.
These days will be gone so quickly. I look at your sister and know that we have so little time. I want you to know that I treasure these moments, and hold them in my heart. I get choked up at the thought that one day the baby will be gone. Already you are crawling and pulling yourself up to standing. Soon the boy will replace the baby, and cuddling with mommy will be replaced by wild romps with the boys.
But tonight you are my baby. Tonight we paced the basement floor together, and you fell asleep in my arms. I wanted to hold you like that forever, and I wished I could stop time from moving forward. Thank you for this beautiful gift. Thank you for this magical time together.
Read the rest of my letters to Oliver: