unrelated photos from a very good day
Everett's slowly gotten better over the past few days. He still sounds like a raspy Grandpa when he talks or laughs, which is so cute I wanna die, but his cough is almost gone and his breathing is doing much better. I have to tell you, since he was 9-months-old and we stopped co-sleeping with him, it has been our dream to have just another night with him sleeping in our bed. It's not for everyone, but we truly cherished those days, sharing a bed together, just our little family, dreaming away in the same room. With very little exception, even on nights when it's difficult for him to fall asleep, I've tried taking him into our bed, and then just ended up having to take him right back to his, because to him, our bed means it's time to get up and play and have some breakfast. Last night though, was different. I tried for two hours to help him fall asleep in his own bed. Rocking, reading, singing. We would rock until he fell asleep in my arms, but the second I tried to put him down in his crib he would startle awake and cling to my neck like his life depended on it. It was still earlier than Tyson and I usually go to bed, but I turned off our lights, and snuggled him in our bed and he was asleep in 5 seconds flat. So there we were. Victory! Success! Our dreams came true. And we hunched over the snoring, stuffy two-year-old lying between us and kissed his cheeks and admired what an angel he was, and how young he looks when he sleeps and silently high-fived each other because it was just like the old days. Or it would be, if a two-year-old wasn't twice the size of a 9-month-old. I did not sleep at all that night. I kept sitting up to check on his breathing. I was elbowed and kicked in the face. He snored like a LION, which was amazing actually. At one point I sat up to check on him and had to laugh at what a cliche portrait of parenthood lay before me. Tyson, who is usually propped dead center in the middle of his pillow, in the very middle of the bed, was lying diagonally, pillow abandoned, with his entire body half-way down the bed. Everett, who had migrated to Tyson's side of the bed, was also totally sideways on his back, limbs spread wide like a starfish with one of his arms limply draped over the top of Tyson's face. Tyson has magical, magical sleeping abilities that I have not been blessed with. I took a mental picture of that moment. Of this whole weekend. An exhausting weekend that was so full of real life, and love, and mess, and teamwork, and care of each other that it couldn't help but be beautiful in it's own way. There's always a little nostalgia in my mom's voice when I tell her about hard, sick moments like these with a little one, and she says, "Oh, I remember that" and reminisces with my dad over a group text about what they did to take care of us during those late nights, and I know that's going to be me some day. And just knowing that, makes me appreciate where I am in my life right now, throwing pans of rice across the kitchen, notwithstanding.