A friend has goaded me into returning this blog, so here I am. He's told me I should write about parenting, so I will.
Yesterday, my wife and two of my sons woke early. I stayed in bed with the third. Later in the morning, our youngest was tired by 8 am and my wife was in the shower. So as the twins played in their room, I danced with our youngest to Sixpence None the Richer's song Kiss Me. As you might have guessed slowly fell asleep in my arms. It's a beautiful thing to have a baby sleep in one's arms. There is a connection between a child's breathing and one's own that is deeper than a rhythm or pattern. Certainly one could argue it's biological, though I don't know. What I do know is that I didn't want to put my son down and I didn't want to go to work. I wanted to stand and sway, feeling his warm little body rest against my chest, and holding his gently and firmly as he twitched, and rubbed his face on my shirt.
I eventually had to pass my son to my wife for the rest of his nap. Work was unavoidable.
Later in the day, I spoke with my wife on the phone and she told me she played Kiss Me again while holding our son and he got down from her arms and started calling and looking for me. My heart melted. And I will always have the memory of that warm, unconditional love and trust.
Update: He fell asleep to the song again on Saturday, despite our having company.