Between

We were down to nursing just once a day, in the morning.  He would wake at 4, 5, 6, always early, and I would pull him into Jack’s bed and lay between them and I would nurse him back to sleeping, convince him that we needn’t start our day just yet.  I was sometimes hours there, laying there between them.  If we had a king bed and their father could join us – that would be the only possible way to improve upon such a beginning for the day.

(I sometimes imagine – and don’t think I’m strange – but I sometimes imagine that when I am very old and dying, my boys will step away from their lives and their jobs and their families for just a bit, and will give their old mother the gift of napping next to her again – one on either side.  I can’t think of a greater comfort.)

Two mornings ago, Liam didn’t wake early.  I woke at 7, showered and left for my exam, he was still sleeping.  And so that was that.  I pondered nursing him later in the day, just to keep it going another little bit.  I decided instead to let it go.  The interminable letting go.  It begins so early.

(He is nearly eleven months old.  We are about to be separated for a long time.  I did well enough by him.  It’s something of a relief, actually.  He has never had the patience to fully cuddle up and nurse: fidgety, busy, pulling away from me, from day one.  My second baby, the brave one, the busy one, the explorer.)  As for the trip that takes me away from him – I have a summer associate position in a city that is a little over two hours away.  The position lasts eight weeks.  For various reasons, the boys aren’t coming along.  I’ll see them on weekends only.

It makes me sad.  (They’ll be totally fine.)  I’m going to miss them.  (They’ll barely notice I’m gone.)  I don’t particularly want to do this.  (I will be able to take a bath and read a book in peace.)

My baby is grinning at me right now, sitting in his high chair, shoving fistfuls of mushy food in his baby bird mouth.  He has a green pea on the tip of his nose, a chunk of banana in his eyebrow, and, Lord help my tub drain, huge swirls of avocado in his hair, and he is smiling wide and devilishly, smacking and smearing the food on his tray.  (I enjoy feeding a child who eats what I prepare.)  My oldest is ignoring me across the table, ignoring his PB&J, ignoring his brother – giving all of his attention to a play train.  (He has his father’s focus.)

I sit at the dining table, eating my lunch, between my two boys.  I love these monkeys.

May and June – please pass swiftly.