If We're Doing Anything Right

That moment when the baby rests his head upon my shoulder. As I sit with him in the corner of his room. After the day has settled into every inch of us. The room, dark. The chaos, quieted. He nestles his head, sideways, into the crook of my neck. Finding the right fit. And then, takes one arm and tucks it safely between his belly and mine. And then the other follows. He burrows his head in, until he finds that just right spot. And I tell myself, in those still, cherished moments, that if we’ve done anything right, it has been loving him just as much as we do the first, and the second. For him to feel such contentment in my arms, he must feel loved, I tell myself. I want to always remember that feeling. The rhythm of his chest rising and falling in time with mine.

The moment when my middlest walks up to me, and as loudly as can be, shouts “hey mooooommmy… I love you, mommy” and then, dramatically falls in, and rests his head upon my shoulder. Eyelids closed tight. He wraps his arms around me. And sighs deeply. And all of that loudness disappears. His whole body, relaxed. His little hands clinging to my back. And he sighs, again. And I know that if we’ve done anything right, we’ve loved him in a way that we’ve given him a place to close his eyes and get lost in a sigh. I want to always remember that feeling. I want to forever see the slight flutter of his eyelids that I can only consume from that view. The feeling of his forehead against my chin. And his sigh. I want to write on my heart, that deep sigh.

The moment when, as I lay in his top bunk, with the lights out, the oldest whispers, “mom, thanks for being my mom,” and then tucks himself under my arm, snuggled into the side of me. And for as many as 12 seconds, lays still. As if the stillness has reached all the way into his insides and let him know that his time is up, he lets out a giggle. And I can feel his smile, even in the darkness. And I know that if we’ve done anything right, we’ve given him joy. And I want to remember that giggle forever. I want to send it into the air so that I can hear it in years to come when the wind blows in my direction. I want to take the fullness of the room when his smile reaches his eyes and commit that feeling to the deepest parts of my heart and label it as pure joy and save it for a rainy day.

Those moments. To me, they are contentment, defined. And I vow to hold on until they let go. The moments when I know that all of this is exactly where I am supposed to be. Exactly what was planned for me.

Those moments in the darkness with them are the brightest lights in my world some days. The delicate moments yield reminders of all that is inexplicably enchanting about parenthood. They are the moments that reset my compass. Some days, it feels as though I am carrying the weight of motherhood on my shoulders, because as many remind me my hands are so full. And my shoulders can feel heavy… Teaching. Guiding. Preparing. Disciplining. Full of hopes. Hope upon hopes that my love does not get lost in translation. I carry it all, wondering if they know. If they really know. And I just pray that they do. I just pray that we’re doing some of it right.

And then, in those moments… in the dark calm… they nestle their heads deeper into these shoulders of mine as if to tell them, we know, mama, we know.

If we’re doing anything right, it’s loving them, I tell myself. And that, I think, may actually be the only thing that needs to be done.