Bringing peace

Day 16 of 31 at TWT!

Despite repeatedly digging her tiny fists into her eyes and burrowing into Husband's shoulder, Little Sweetie has decided she does not want to go to bed. As she makes it clear that she has a strong pair of lungs, I'm scrolling through Evernote, trying to decide what to write about. Unlike some Marches, my list of writing possibilities is actually growing instead of shrinking, but none of the ideas call out to me tonight.

Upstairs, the crying is turning into wailing, so I sigh and decide to go give Husband a break. As I reach for her, those blue eyes widen and her open mouth stretches into a sweet smile. Wiggly arms reach up for me, and her whole body squirms with delight as I lift her now-familiar weight and settle her against me.

Two balled fists immediately cling to my robe, and she buries her face in my right shoulder. Sinking into the glider, I start rocking with a powerful push, stroking her velvety head. "Shhhhh, sweetie. It's alright." Little gulps of "but-I-was-upset-Mommy!" shudder periodically across her body, slowly turning into infrequent sighs and then steady breaths. I rock more gently, and she uncurls from a tense ball into a floppy frog.

Just when I think she might be asleep, a tiny finger starts to wiggle, digging rhythmically into my elbow and playing with the wrinkles in my robe. So sweet, but this is not the time to be curious! Suddenly, she does a push-up against my chest, gazing right into my eyes. Uh-oh! I rev the rocking speed back up, but she quickly flops back into my shoulder, apparently satisfied that it's me that she's snuggling.

I bend forward to cuddle her cornsilk head against my cheek and close my eyes, taking in the sweet smell of baby shampoo, the delicate tug of her miniature fists on my robe, the cozy pressure of her body on my chest and belly, her warmth in my arms, and the dangly weight of her little feet pressing into my lap. Thoughts of school drift away, sending the tension of the day floating with them. Back and forth we rock, melting into one swaying bundle of tranquility.

My eyelids are heavy, and she's nestled calmly against me, all floppy limbs and delicate breaths. I stop rocking. Still snuggly.

I stealthily stand up. A sluggish wiggle.
I creep over to the crib. A slight re-burrowing.
I freeze until I feel perfect serenity against me again.

Slowly, gently, I peel her off of me and bend over.
Squirm. Wiggle. Uh-oh?
I deposit her in the crib like I'm trying not to spill a very full glass of water.
Plop.
Stretch.
She flops her arms behind her head, wriggles once, and lets her head droop sideways onto one arm. Eyes closed, tiny hint of a smile on her perfectly placid face.

Success! My heart beams as I gaze down at those exquisite eyelashes, rosy cheeks, and adorable features: still an angelic echo in sleep of the newborn she used to be. So grateful that I can give her the peace she brings me.