Something in the Way

 There is something in the way a child sleeps...

James Taylor's song "Something in the Way She Moves" is playing in the back of my mind as I stare at Caleb.  I would rewrite the song..."there's something in the way he sleeps..."

There is a magic there.  There is a feeling that catches in my throat and stings the backs of my eyes.  There is an involuntary tenderness that wells up, washing over any arguments or negativity of the day before.  

I remember when the kids were younger, I would watch them sleep and just cry.  I would cry over how much I loved them.  I would cry over their future and fears that the world may not cherish them or be kind to them.  I would cry over parenting missteps, regretting harsh words.  

I don't think I am alone.  I suspect these intense feelings hit every caregiver.  Maybe the underlying thoughts or concerns are different, but the feelings are the same.  I would argue they are there for a reason - that young children nap often for just this reason: so their parents may fall in love with them over and over again.

These moments happen less often as they grow.  This is mostly because I don't witness their sleep very often.  I still tuck the younger boys into bed, but I am often asleep before Parker and Maddie.  Mornings are busy, and I simply pop my head in the doors to announce, "It's wake-up time!"  Parker even uses his own alarm clock now.  And I find life is just "too busy" now to stop and take the time to observe and to document my darling, sleeping babies.  It makes me a little sad.

When I do catch them sleeping, it is usually on vacation.  I stand over them, creepily taking a million photos, trying to capture that innocence, that sweetness, until they inevitably wake and groan, "Mom!  No!" slipping under the covers again, elusive as unicorns.

But today Caleb is sick.  He has a cough (which sounded like croup the other night when he woke me, gasping for breath and barking like a seal).  He has a headache and sore throat.  He is staying home (much to the dismay of his older siblings who would also like "a day off").  Aaron is in India, so when it was time to drive everyone else to school, I whispered to Caleb that I would return soon and left him buried in covers on the couch.

He is sleeping on the couch because there is mould in the basement (where he normally sleeps).  He and Jack were arguing, and slamming the sliding door down there a few weeks ago, when it fell off its tracks - inside the wall.  I have been asking the landlord to fix it (along with the leak in the ceiling) for weeks.  They finally sent a repairman yesterday who removed a wall panel and found...you guessed it...mould.  While the repairman insisted it wasn't dangerous, I didn't think it a good idea for Caleb to breathe it in, given he already has quite a cough.  (The silver lining is that the boys won't be blamed for breaking the door, since it was likely the water damage that caused the door to fall off the tracks.)

So Aaron is gone, Caleb is sick, the basement is torn apart, I have left today's Welcome Club outing I planned for new parents at the school in the capable hands of my friend, Niamh, and I am free this morning.  I am free to take pictures of my sleeping angel on the couch.  I am free to take the time to breathe and remember all the moments of sitting and staring at sleeping babies and feel all the feels.  I am free to write and observe the beautiful rainbow that arcs over our village today, reminding me of God's promises.

I am not alone.  I will not be given more than I can handle.  I am the keeper of very precious gifts, and I will enjoy them today.