Dear Sam,
This morning I went down to kiss you goodbye before I left for
an early meeting. I still do this,
typically to your great annoyance, almost every day. I was
expecting you to be fast asleep (it was a really early meeting) and possibly
startle awake when my big head loomed towards your scruffy cheek. You wrecked my narrative, though, because you
were awake. You explained that you had fallen
asleep at 7, awakened at midnight, then gone back to sleep for the night only
to awaken again for the day at 5a. You
were idly scrolling through your phone, waiting for your alarm to summon you
into beginning your day. We chatted for
a few minutes before I dashed off to my meeting.
Interestingly, I, too fell asleep extremely early last night,
and I also awoke around midnight unable to fall back to sleep. I read for awhile until I felt drowsy
again. It didn’t occur to me to check on
you or any of your siblings. We are so
far past those years, now, and having come through several joint surgeries in
the past 5 years, my newer muscle memory is to stay still in the night to
protect my muscles still prone to stiff soreness in the wee hours. It’s been years since I tiptoed around the
house, laying my hand on the sleeping backs of toddlers and babies, feeling the
easy rise and fall of your little bodies in the quiet night.
Years ago, I read that nursing mothers who co-sleep (or at
least same room sleep) with their infants fall into the same sleep/wake cycles
so that when the baby is most likely to wake to eat, the mother is most likely
to be at her lightest sleep state. It’s absurd
to assume our strange and similar sleep hours last night were anything but a
coincidence, but it had me remembering how deeply connected you and I once
were. I used to call you my butter boy,
because your body would melt against mine in relief and comfort every time I
picked you up. In those years, I
regularly smothered your fuzzy little head and round, soft belly with countless
kisses.
Even now, I haven’t broken the habit of kissing you all goodbye. Though I no longer sneak out regularly before
any of you are awake, I still make a point of hugging and kissing you goodbye
when you leave almost always earlier than I.
Last week you told me, “You don’t have to do that every day, mom. You don’t have to act like every day is my
birthday!” I am not a morning person,
either, so I get your desire to move quietly and unobtrusively through a
morning routine without much interruption and with even less conversation. But I still want to kiss you goodbye.
I was scrolling through some old Facebook photos of you this
week and came across this gem of you in your red coat and blue teddy bear
mittens. I remember this photo so well. It was probably taken around this time of
year, as I recall it was warm enough for us to venture outside for some fresh
air, but still cold enough to require hats and coats and mittens. This is our backyard. I sat on the steps facing the patio while you
and your sister ran around. I recall
much giggling, though I don’t remember what about. This odd little face you are making was your
attempt to pucker up for a kiss. I
wanted to capture it that day because I found it enchanting. You had moved beyond the slobbery open mouth
of baby smooches, but still couldn’t master a real pucker. You pushed out your bottom lip and leaned in
willingly, eyes dancing, every time I said “Give mommy a kiss!” You really were a pretty big fan of mine back
then.
So, before you go, save me some kisses as you keep growing up and away from me. I know it’s annoying and feels kind of weird now that I’m pretty sure your sisters and I are no longer the only girls you’ve kissed. To me, though, this sweet little backyard embrace was just a heartbeat ago. When did you finally learn how to pucker up for real? Most likely it was right around the time when you got stingy with your kisses and pretty much stopped leaning into my embrace eagerly and unabashedly. But when I look at your manly face, I still see this bright eyed baby boy and want to smooch those sweet cheeks. Before you go, kiss your mother!
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