The Lad has been waking up screaming several times a night for the last few weeks. Maybe it's teeth or night terrors, or maybe he's just a ridiculously light sleeper like his daddy. I don't like this.
But I just went in to quiet him. He'd been crying for several minutes and was just getting angrier. Patting his back pissed him off, too. I pulled him and his blanky -- yes, his is getting as stinky as his brother's -- out of the crib and sat in the rocker. His squalling face made me laugh, and smiling, I started singing Dr. Seuss's ABCs in his ear. He screamed past the four fluffy feathers on a fiffer-feffer-feff, past little Lola Lop, past the policeman in a pail. He finally stopped at Rosy Robin Ross and her red rhinoceros. He literally cried himself to sleep in my lap. By the glow of the nightlight I rocked as The Lad cuddled against my chest. Belly to belly, I felt his breathing slow and even out into sleep after one last shuddering sigh. I finished my horrible, off-key song and just listened to my baby's breath and rubbed my face against his soft curls.
I don't want to think about the day my boys are too big to snuggle on my lap like that.