Sitting and WaitingI was sitting in a metal chair in an exam room at the pediatrician’s office today. Reid was on my lap after I had to wrestle with him to allow the nurse to swab his nose for the flu. Man, he’s strong. He seemed so big to me at that moment – all 46 pounds and 46 inches of him. As I kissed his tear-stained face, I put my cheek against his burning forehead, and gazed at my purse in the corner about 5 feet across from me, wishing I could “bewitch” my phone to my hand to pass the time. “Do you want your blanket or your puppy?”, I asked him. “No,” he said with that pitiful, stuffy, sad voice. “The only thing I want is to feel better.”
Heart. Shattered.I returned to my thoughts, wishing I had my phone to check email or scroll Facebook. I was making a list in my head of things I needed to do, and wishing I could make a list in my Notes app instead since I knew the head-list would vanish in 5-4-3-2…list? What list? Oh….right….the list I was making and trying to commit to memory so I would remember it when I could dictate it to the app. I couldn’t remember what was on that list. Something about contacting my client about some issue and needing something from the grocery store. As I wound through the maze in my head, from groceries, to work, to a pedicure, to my blog, to courses I have bought and still need to take, to a mental reminder to call my dad to check in, I felt the weight of my little sickie shift on my lap.
Back to the MomentBrought back to the moment, I realized again how big he seemed sometimes. And also how little. I breathed in the smell of his hair. My arms tightened around him a bit, and I reminded myself that the lists and to-dos and phone distraction were so silly compared to that quiet moment with my sweet boy on my lap, and pouring my love into him to make him feel better. Of course, I know this. We all do. But the mind is so busy that it can mask the moments.
The Last Time PoemA vague memory of an article that buzzed around Facebook a couple of years ago crept into my head. I never read the article because from the first few lines of it, there was pretty much no way I would be able to read it without my heart breaking. It was something about how one day you pick up your kid and then you just never pick them up again. In fact, I googled “blog about the last time you pick up your son” and it came right up. It’s called The Last Time Poem, author unknown. This is what popped up when I googled it: The first thing I noticed tonight about the result that was first on the list was that the post date is my birthday. A coincidence of course, but made me look twice. And when I read the Google blurb tonight, I had the same feeling as when I first saw it. Just no. Nope. Cannot read further. Will certainly never be able to get out of bed again if I do.
Watch Them SleepAfter confirmation of the flu and the ensuing four Walgreen’s search for Tamiflu, the day evaporated with Nick Jr. and some work I needed to get done. When my mom went to pick Jake up from school for me, Reid climbed into my lap and fell asleep. I again felt his hot face with my cool cheek and noticed how long his legs looked stretched out over the arm of the chair. I rocked him slightly in my favorite chair, an awesome swivel-rocker-recliner I got when the boys were born, and watched him sleep in my arms.
Come Sit In My LapI flashed back to my dahlin’ 95-year-old grandmother, one of the greatest loves of my life, sitting in that same chair rocking the boys as tiny preemie newborns.
I understand her more now.And I think about that damn poem, that I have still not read all the way through, kind of a lot – especially lately when one of the boys wants me to pick them up and carry them somewhere. Jake asked me to pick him up tonight, and I did. He jumped into my arms, and as I caught him and heaved him up with a groan, a small, mean gnat of a thought flitted past my consciousness that THAT could be the last time I picked him up. And then I basically told that gnat to kiss off and made another note in my head to move the gym to the top of all the lists, and make upper body strength a priority, STAT.
The thoughts I go to bed with tonight are:
1. I’ll figure out a way to pick them up for as long as they ask me.
2. My lap will always be strong enough for them to sit on, and I hope when I’m 95 and want them to sit in my lap, they will humor me.
3. Stop the thinking brain and feel the feeling heart. Stop distracting myself from real-life moments with lists, Facebook, trying to take pictures and video, or any thoughts at all.
4. Simply remember to feel the love for, and from, my little boys.