Jeffrey and I lie in bed, curled up next to each other, his feet resting firmly on my [not firm] tummy. Early morning light trickles in through the windows, and Tyler has just left for work. Jeffrey's big brown eyes are gazing at me, and he begins stroking my face with abrupt, spastic strokes. I cut his fingernails yesterday, so I'm not particularly afraid he will claw my eye out with his semi-dexterous movements. He moves on to my shoulders, running his little hands over them, grasping the hair that peeks over the edge of my neck and entwining his fingers in it. We make eye contact again and he grins his wife toothless grin. I raise my hand in front of his face, and he looks at it and reaches his tiny hand to meet mine, curling his fingers around mine, playing with my ring.
"Jeffrey, I love you."
And he loves me. He can't say it, but he shows it with his adoring looks and soft, sometimes gentle, (sometimes not!) touches.
I was prepared to love him. I was prepared for him to love me.
I wasn't prepared for the love to be this deep. For it to ache in my heart when I see my baby. I wasn't prepared for the fact that I'm the center of Jeffrey's little universe. (Being someone's sole source of food will give you that particular status, by the way.)
And despite not being really prepared for the enormity of this mother-son bond, I'm embracing it, because it's wonderful. I'm not ashamed of missing him for the four hours at the beginning of the night when he's in his crib beside our bed. I'm okay with the eagerness that I feel when he cries at midnight and I tuck him in beside me and his daddy. He snuggles up to daddy first, so tightly wedged against his back that Tyler can't move an inch. Then, as the night wears on, he scooches closer to me, nuzzling me as if to say "I love daddy, but umm, hey, wanna feed me?"
These days are so precious. Who needs uninterrupted sleep when they've got a baby as sweet as ours??
