Missed-Nap Love Letter

Today you missed your nap.

Well, not really. I did lay you down. Twice. But you climbed out of your crib, unlocked the door, opened it and came down, happy to tell me about your achievement. You really should have slept, but I figured that the 'lock you in' trick wasn't working, so I gave up. Anyway, how can I put something so smart and determined and happy and CUTE back to bed?

Instead, you played outside with your siblings and helped me make applezini muffins--by "help" I mean that when my back was turned, you stuck your chubby fingers into the applesauce, shredded zucchini and batter to get a nibble.

After dinner you started screaming. I checked your bum, and found a mess that was really irritating your ouchy rash. During the diaper change you writhed, screamed and wailed. Not even a cool cloth on your burny nether-regions convinced you to turn off the tantrum.

So I did the only thing that I could think of. I held you. And rocked. And quietly sang the songs that bring me peace in times of turmoil and tantrum: I Am a Child of God, I Know My Father Lives, Teach Me To Walk in the Light, Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam. It worked like a charm, as usual. You didn't mind the number of times that I changed keys or cracked or simply struggled to hit the right note. There's just something about Mom's soft voice singing songs of the Spirit that brings quiet.

After a while you fell asleep.



Your full lips were just the right shape for kissing, so I did. Again and again and again and again. Your long, dark lashes don't all lay the right way, did you know? Some curl before they reach the length of the others. I'd never noticed before. I kissed your tear-wet eyes, too. Your face was a total mess. I think that crusty blob in your eyebrow once originated in your nose, but it could also have been batter. Probably batter. We never did get you your bath today, so your hair still smelled faintly of the stick of butter that you quietly demolished this morning.

As I rocked you, the evening sun cut through the blinds, the stripey shadows moving across the contours of your soft, round face. And in that lighting, the oils in your skin shattered the sunlight into spectrums of rainbows shimmering across your cloud-soft, perfect, dirty little face. Your chest moved rhythmically up and down as your breathing relaxed and deepened.

I wanted to capture the moment, so when Alex came in, I sent him to have Dad bring me the camera. He brought it and the others came to see what was camera-worthy. Each of them paused to marvel at your cute sleepihood. They adore you. We all do.

Thank you for coming to our family. You were--and continue to be--the best surprise I've ever had.