Brody sleeps in a twin size race car bed, meaning it’s lower to the floor than a regular bed, and one has to pull oneself up to get over the sides of the “car” before exiting.
I’m having round ligament pain, which feels like my sides are being ripped apart when I try to use my “ab muscles” for such things like twisting and bending, rising or sneezing. All of this is an excuse for what happens next.
Usually, Brody and I read books in bed, then I turn out the light, and I lay with him. It’s getting almost impossible for me to lever myself out of that bed.
The last couple of nights, we’ve been changing the routine: we read books in the chair, then he climbs into bed, and I stay in the chair and sing to him until he falls asleep.
Reading in the chair really wasn’t working last night. My stomach protrudes, and he is almost falling off my lap, and neither of us is very comfortable.
So after we read the books, he climbs into bed and I turn off the lights. “Stay in da chair and rock, mommy.”
“And sing. Sing twinkle twinkle, itsy bitsy spider, den rock a bye baby.”
“Ok.” So I do. Then I notice that he’s watching me from the bed.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a smile.
“I like watching you rock” he says. Aw hell.
I keep singing. I finish the songs. He’s still watching me, curled up with his hands under his cheek, just watching.
“I like hugging you mommy,” he says, very quietly. Come ON.
I get up to give him a hug. Then climb into bed with him, ligament pain be damned.
I’m having a moment. You know, those parenting/mommy moments where you sort of exhale and think all is Right with our world? We’re cuddled up and reasonably comfortable, despite the beach ball between us. I’m stroking his hair with my hand, watching him fall asleep, relishing these last moments of just me and him.
Right up until he grabs my hand - the one that is stroking his hair - and says “Ok, mommy. Dats enough of dat.”