Caleb and I took a nap together today. He's had a rough go with naps this week. Maybe because of teething, maybe because of the new skills he's learning, maybe it's just a phase he's going through. Either way, it's been a long week and we were both tired and getting grumpy when naptime came this afternoon.
I darkened the room and we settled into bed. He began to cry, so I softly sang a lullaby he's familiar with that I've been singing and listening to since I found out we were having a boy ("Godspeed (Sweet Dreams)" - The Dixie Chicks). He calmed right down, smiled, and settled in. When I finished, he shifted around until he was comfortable, laid his head down and drifted off. A few minutes later he picked his head back up, pushed himself over so he was snuggled right against me, grabbed my thumb and went back to sleep. It was one of those moments that stops me in my tracks. Even when I think I can't be any more enamored with him, he does something like that, and my heart holds him just a little bit tighter.
Thank goodness we had that time together this afternoon; it offset the madness that was bedtime tonight. That's just how it goes, isn't it?
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Reflecting
December 2, 2009
It's Christmastime again, so I've again been listening to "Winter Snow" by Audrey Assad (with Chris Tomlin) a lot. I was just making peas and broccoli for Caleb when it came on. I flashed back to this time last year. I was about 25-ish weeks pregnant, feeling our baby boy jump and flip and kick all the livelong day, listening to the song and thinking about the paradigm shift that pregnancy brought for the season. One year ago I was expectantly hopeful - as the advent hope - of what the following year would bring, and what life would be like for Christmas 2010. I'm listening to the lyrics with the same enlightenment as last year and then some.
You came like a winter snow, quiet and soft and slow
Caleb was born into a focused, calm but determined, dimly lit room (with the exception of my doctor's spotlight). He came out quietly and took his time finding his voice. Even when he did, it was a soft cry and didn't last long before he settled down. And goodness knows it was slow; it took four hours of pushing before he finally joined us.
Falling from the sky in the night to the earth below
It was the middle of the night when he came; 3:27am to be exact. He had ten long fingers and ten long toes, his daddy's eyes and feet, my mouth and chin, and to this day we're not sure whose nose he has. He was a perfect little angel, God's beautiful little boy gifted to us to care after him on this earth.
As I sit here, listening to the song on repeat and hearing "dada" whispered softly on the baby monitor, I feel a renewed kinship with Mary and compassion for God who watched his Son transition from heavenly royalty to helplessness in flesh.
It's Christmastime again, so I've again been listening to "Winter Snow" by Audrey Assad (with Chris Tomlin) a lot. I was just making peas and broccoli for Caleb when it came on. I flashed back to this time last year. I was about 25-ish weeks pregnant, feeling our baby boy jump and flip and kick all the livelong day, listening to the song and thinking about the paradigm shift that pregnancy brought for the season. One year ago I was expectantly hopeful - as the advent hope - of what the following year would bring, and what life would be like for Christmas 2010. I'm listening to the lyrics with the same enlightenment as last year and then some.
You came like a winter snow, quiet and soft and slow
Caleb was born into a focused, calm but determined, dimly lit room (with the exception of my doctor's spotlight). He came out quietly and took his time finding his voice. Even when he did, it was a soft cry and didn't last long before he settled down. And goodness knows it was slow; it took four hours of pushing before he finally joined us.
Falling from the sky in the night to the earth below
It was the middle of the night when he came; 3:27am to be exact. He had ten long fingers and ten long toes, his daddy's eyes and feet, my mouth and chin, and to this day we're not sure whose nose he has. He was a perfect little angel, God's beautiful little boy gifted to us to care after him on this earth.
As I sit here, listening to the song on repeat and hearing "dada" whispered softly on the baby monitor, I feel a renewed kinship with Mary and compassion for God who watched his Son transition from heavenly royalty to helplessness in flesh.
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