I’ve been here before. I wrote about it.
I’m lying here in the dark as my baby sleeps peacefully in the next room. I am simultaneously elated and devastated. Elated that he can easily soothe himself and is a happy, rested, boisterous baby boy who cannot wait to explore the world. Devastated that he doesn’t need me to rush in and swoop him up in my arms every three hours. To lie with him and feel his warm baby breath on my chest.
Every attempt at independence (less night nursing, standing on his own, cruising, independent play…) makes my heart sing and break. Loving someone this much HURTS.
I am praying for presence, to be in the moment more than I ever have been, to enjoy Ian’s babyhood (what’s left of it). It’s like only having Christmas morning once.