Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Powering up

Today, I woke up draped in Ruggies. There are only two of them, but somehow it felt like I was sleeping with a litter of puppies.  They were not just near me, but on me- covering me.  Their weight and breath was everywhere- all satisfying comfort and reassurance; like a heavy sweatshirt and a haze of sweet smelling sugar cookies in the oven.

Jake fell out of bed at about 1am and the only reaction I had to the sound of his noggin slamming into the hard wood floor was to JUMP UP, run in there, lift him into my arms, and tuck him in between katy and me.  He was there for the night because we all fell asleep swift and hard after that.  Then at some point in the pre-dawn, big moonlit morning, Milo came tottering in.  I turned onto my side, reached down and scooped at him with my drowsy arms.  He burrowed into the cavern between my chin, ribcage, and knees.

I woke up facing that same general direction, but he had turned over.  Mouth-breathing into my nostils, Milo's legs were draped across my abdomen.  I was all gumby'd up: Milo was on my front, but Jake was (impossibly) laying across my upper back. 

"How are we laying like this? One on the front of me, one on my back?" was the first conscious thought of my day.  I attempted to roll again, slightly, but instead forced myself to freeze: to appreciate these clinging, loving, needy (but quickly growing independent) mammels.

Milo all breathy on my face.  So soft, so curly and wispy in his solidness.  He's as sensitive and trusting as can be despite his "tough-guy" persona.

"You are my favorite." I caught myself thinking as I stared at him.  The thought surprised me, but not really; the way soda bubbles up the back of your throat after that first sip...every time. I think maybe I think this about each of them, every time I watch them sleep. Not "you are my favorite (son)" but "you are my favorite (person)."

I remember a crisis-of-faith type story my dad once told me about when my mom was pregnant with my sister. Turning to his mother for advice, he wondered to her how he could love any other child as much as he loved me.  He relayed to me that she told him not to worry- some version of: "Your heart will expand"...  In my memory, his voice trails off and the "old soul" inside the child-me is left wanting to ask, "Wait, who did you end up loving more?!?"

We all shift in the bed and Jake is somehow even closer to me- pressed up against me tighter than he was before.  I am a pretzel... my hips are mostly facing the ceiling, but my shoulders are pressed mostly into my pillow.  Right arm under my own body and the young one's neck.  Left arm reaching awkwardly back, pinned between my back and the elder.  These boys are not floppy beanbags anymore.  They are pointy bags of bones.  Already in their posture and gaits, Katy and I see the teenage boys they are intent on morphing into approaching us.

I think, "I can't move!"

Then I realize I don't want to... We all have a full day of work ahead of us, but this part of the day... This is like plugging in my batteries so I will be fully charged for the rest of the day.  There is a time to untangle and get into the shower.  There's a time to stay tangled up in the covers for a few more minutes with your babies...

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