My alarm clock buzzes at 5:40am. Though I am tempted to hit the snooze (for the third time), I know what the morning holds and rest time is over. I make my way to the shower, rush through getting myself ready, then head up stairs to grab my little homeboy from his crib. Most days I am greeted with the sweetest smile and kicking feet as I open his door and peer into his crib. “Good morning, sweet boy!”, I say. I hoist him into my arms and time freezes for a moment. He buries his face into my shoulder and I hold him close, soaking up his sweet smell and unconditional love.
Downstairs we go– time to change the diaper, put on some fresh clothes, nurse a little bit, and get moving with our day. It’s kind of a whirlwind, really. “Does he need his diaper changed again?” “I’m not sure he ate enough.” “Is his diaper bag ready to go?” Before I know it, it’s time to rush out the door. One last big hug, quick kisses goodbye and yelling, “Text me!” as we get in our cars to leave. Sometimes I feel a heaviness in my chest– a sadness, really. One day closer to the weekend, I tell myself each day.
I’m off to take care of other people’s children, counting down the minutes until I get to drive home to my family. I spend my entire day taking care of other people’s children while someone else takes care of mine.
The work day is finally over and I’m home again with my favorite people. We have two hours together before bedtime. Little man loves to jump– on our laps or in his jumper. We spend time together on the couch, laughing at the faces our kid makes, his silly noises and exploring hands keeping our attention. Trying new foods at the dinner table is a new favorite. Bedtime draws near and routine sets in. Bath, jammies, and calm couch cuddles. I watch them during story time with dad, recording all of the moments in my mind. I don’t want to miss one sleepy eye rub. I anticipate the moment my husband says, “See, that’s the King of France but it’s a cat, so I don’t get it”, just as he does every night while reading Hello Ninja.
Then it’s my turn. My little homeboy and I have the next twenty minutes all to ourselves. We rock peacefully together, enjoying our bad habit of nursing just before bed. Sometimes he falls asleep in my arms. I remember when this was a daily thing– when he would nap on my chest for what seemed like hours. That was months ago, though. He’s much bigger now. I hold him close and rock with my eyes closed for just a few more minutes before putting him in his crib. I pray for him– thanking God for this blessing that I get to hold each day. As I place him into his crib, I say, “Good night, buddy. I love you.” Each night I linger next to his crib for just a few minutes, staring at him sleeping. One day closer to the weekend, I tell myself each night.
Finally, it is Saturday. No rushing. No quick goodbye kisses. The weekend comes and goes– typically filled with family visits, trips to Target, and so many cuddles.
Then it’s Monday morning. Time to start all over. One day closer to the weekend.