In an odd and rare turn of events, Harrison slept later than I did this morning. Usually it is his squawking and rambling that pulls me out of bed and into the day. This morning, however, it was my own chest constricting cough that had me up and around the house, waiting and wondering why I hadn’t heard a peep yet from his room.
Like any good mom, I took advantage of the “extra” minutes and did little chores like filling his milk cup for breakfast and making my bed; I even snuck in a quick look at facebook just for kicks.. Then I got curious. 25 minutes of me banging around the house & he was still quiet. Was he OK? Was he breathing? I can’t even number how many times I’ve asked myself that question in his two short years, but it always seems to be my go-to worry.
Opening the door to his bedroom, turning on no lights, I found my little man curled up in his crib, surrounded by the ever-growing number of animals that accompany him to sleep each night. He didn’t wake up, so after the mandatory “Is his chest moving?” assessment, I just stopped to watch – something I don’t get to do often because Harrison is hardly ever still during the day and does not need us to help him fall asleep at night.
Am I biased to say he was beautiful? Probably. What struck me most, though, was how much his sleeping position mirrored my own. Curled up on his right side, that poor right arm shmushed somewhere below, he had his left hand tucked up by his face, just under his chin – just as I do every night. His legs bent, he had not a pillow between them like his mama, but instead a teddy bear giving him that ever helpful spinal alignment that would make our chiropractor proud. I was amazed to see this sweet little mini me, so calm and so peaceful. I could have watched for hours.
In reality, the quiet lasted about five minutes, but you know that alone is impressive if you have ever met my active little boy. When he finally stirred, he first rolled his body back and assumed a little child’s pose, rolled up like a ball in the middle of the crib. He then put his hand up to his hair, twirling it for a little while, just as he does during his bedtime routine when we are reading stories and he is clearly ready for a lullaby and lights out.
When he turned to look out into his dark room, he saw me sitting there beside the crib and instantly jumped up, grabbed Cow, and exclaimed, “Mama!” as he reached out to hug me (and get an assist in climbing out of the crib). I doubt there could be a better way to start any day.