Because I'm safe

I was writing a thank you card. It was the kind of thank you card that is more than just thank you and sort of requires some deep concentration so you don't say the same thing over and over again. I was in my groove and so of course that was the moment that Maddox decided that he could no longer play on the floor by himself and that he needed to be picked up and picked up now. He's learned that he can practically climb my legs. He hugs them and pulls on them and cries and whines and begs to be picked up. And I suck at resisting.

It was during this exact thank you card writing session that I was just annoyed. Couldn't he see that I was busy? Couldn't he see that if he left me alone for exactly one minute I could finish the card and then pick him up? Why couldn't he understand when I told him, "One minute, Maddox. Just one more minute."?

I finished my thank you with an increasingly upset child pulling on me and throwing the ugliest temper tantrum just to be picked up (to which he promptly wanted to be put down again).  I do have a lot of patience when it comes to Maddox. Which is surprising to me because I don't have any patience for anyone else when it comes to anything. There are just these moments when I need another second to finish my project and if he would just hang tight for that one second I could be all his. But just exactly how do you explain that to a fifteen-month-old (< WHAT, by the way.)?

And that same night while Evan was showering I had the urge to go peek in Maddox's room and kiss him goodnight. I try to keep this sneaking to a minimum because his door and the floors in front of his room and into his room are absolutely the loudest, creakiest in our entire house, but obviously only when he's asleep. And so, I opened the door as quietly as I could and tiptoed over to the crib. And Maddox heard me. He sat up and then stood up without making a sound. I picked him up and took him to the rocking chair and rocked him while Evan finished his shower. Maddox laid his head on my shoulder and didn't fall back asleep but we both laid there in this unspoken understanding that we wouldn't say a word, lest the moment be broken. And we stayed like that for another fifteen minutes, just rocking back and forth and rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head. Prayers of thankfulness escaped my lips because I have no other action when I'm holding his quiet body than to just say THANK YOU, thank you for these moments, this baby.

And as I sat there basking in the moment of a quiet baby who was letting me cuddle him for longer than ten seconds, I just thought about how this is it. These are the last days of this. In the blink of an eye he won't need me anymore. Long gone will be the days where I'm his best friend and the most important person in his life. Sometimes when someone who isn't me holds him he immediately reaches back to me because I'm safe. Soon I won't be his safe place and he'll be growing up and making his own safe places.

And in that moment I realized what a blessing all the interruptions are. Each moment I ignore his cries to be picked up (even when he just wants to be picked up for three seconds) is another moment I won't get back. I'm not trying to be depressing or the type of mom who hates thinking about the future. Because I was for a long time and I've seen the future and the future is good. Good things happen when babies grow up from being a newborn. What I am doing is putting down the distractions--the phone, the computer, the book, the chores, the whatever--and being there, being present for him so that I can soak up these moments for all they're worth while he is still offering them.