Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Growth spurts can be rough. We've already had a few that were distinct (even though in reality, his whole little life is one big growth spurt so far), and they often mean messed up sleeping and eating schedules, wanting to nurse way more often, and wanting to be held extra. Which is all cool with me. I know in five years, I'll look back and wish I could hold his little baby body without him wanting to run and play, so I'm doing my best to memorize his weight in my arms, and his milky breath as he sleeps with his mouth open, and how his eyes never really close all the way, and how his hair is strangely coarse, and all his individual rolls and wrinkles.
Last night, I nursed him fully on both sides no less than five times. He's a hungry thing, which means I'll probably be engorged for a couple days. Bedtime rolled around at 9:30, and he was exhausted (so much whining, but I love it, I love it), so I nursed him as he whimpered on me. I started singing some of my favorite lullabies, and realized how much I love singing to him.
In order, I sang Moon River, Sea of Love, Nature Boy, and You're Not Alone. Several times I almost woke him up with those special laugh-sobs that you get when you're so amazed and overwhelmed by a feeling. Now, I usually try not to nurse him to sleep. I don't want him to get too comfortable that way and become dependent on it in order to sleep. But growth spurts, you lovely, exhausting things, you. You give me that excuse, once or twice out of a hundred, to nurse him to sleep. As he whimpers.
And I never want to forget that I love it.