He's My Last Baby


I knew I was supposed to put him down.  We're sleep training him after all, and I'm supposed to put him down while he's still sleepy.  But for some reason it just hit me.  Harrison is my last baby.  I'll never have another baby of mine at 5 months and 24 days old.  Tomorrow he'll already be another day older.  I felt the tears prick my eyes.

We finally had peace between us, one of the few times we'd found it in his nearly six months of life.  This 17 pound weight was pressed to my chest, our bellies breathing into each other.  I stroked the dark blond peach fuzz on his head, smelled the milk still on his breath.  His gentle snores as he fell asleep made me smile and rub his back, aching for just another few minutes of closeness.  

Things have been anything but easy since he's been here.  But still, this is my last baby.  And I began to wonder if I'd miss all of these moments with him.  Not the every half hour wakings, for sure.  But these ones.  The quiet moments where we're just rocking together, comfortable in the quiet of the house, finally bonding in the way I was missing in the early months of his life.

He's almost six months old now and I've wished away a majority of those months.  I never wished him away, of course, but all of those nights where I was angry and frustrated and miserable, those are the times I wished away.  I didn't like who I was in those nights.  I didn't like who we were as a family as we tried to navigate these new waters.  

But these days things have gotten much simpler.  He sleeps now and with that, we're all happier - including him.  He is a happier baby, a more snuggly baby.  And it was that snuggling that I wasn't willing to give up quite so easily last night.  I didn't want these feelings of peace to end.  So I held him a little longer, letting our bellies move in and out in sync.  And then I slowly got up, squeezed him to me one more time, and put him down gently into his crib.