Yesterday I had to wake Hugh up from his nap.
I don't really let him ever sleep past 5 pm. Then he never goes down for the night. But waking up a baby from a long and delicious afternoon nap always feels like a kind of sin to me.
I made a bunch of noise in his room. Opened drawers and turned off the fan. But he didn't stir. His bottom lip stuck out, his arms huddled close to his chest. He wanted to sleep. Not this rude awakening.
So I got in the crib with him. I've never done that before. Gotten in the crib. But it felt like I needed to be on his level to do this mean thing to him. So I climbed in, cuddled next to him, and slowly started stroking his back.
He opened his eyes. Then closed them. Opened them again. Rolled over. Curled into me. Couldn't believe I was making him wake up.
He looked so sad and tired. So disappointed that this was truly what was happening and that he was going to have to accept it. And I thought, boy me too. I get you. So I didn't say anything, and I didn't rush him and I just lay there and rubbed his back. Made it as easy as I could for him to get up when he was ready.
He yawned. He stretched. He rolled from one side, to the next, to the next. Eyes closed again. Eyes open again. Learning to accept his reality.
We lay there together minute after minute in his crib. I tried to practice with myself the same things I had been practicing with him. Love. Compassion. Tenderness. Patience.
We'll figure out a way to get up.
But it might take a while.
I don't really let him ever sleep past 5 pm. Then he never goes down for the night. But waking up a baby from a long and delicious afternoon nap always feels like a kind of sin to me.
I made a bunch of noise in his room. Opened drawers and turned off the fan. But he didn't stir. His bottom lip stuck out, his arms huddled close to his chest. He wanted to sleep. Not this rude awakening.
So I got in the crib with him. I've never done that before. Gotten in the crib. But it felt like I needed to be on his level to do this mean thing to him. So I climbed in, cuddled next to him, and slowly started stroking his back.
He opened his eyes. Then closed them. Opened them again. Rolled over. Curled into me. Couldn't believe I was making him wake up.
He looked so sad and tired. So disappointed that this was truly what was happening and that he was going to have to accept it. And I thought, boy me too. I get you. So I didn't say anything, and I didn't rush him and I just lay there and rubbed his back. Made it as easy as I could for him to get up when he was ready.
He yawned. He stretched. He rolled from one side, to the next, to the next. Eyes closed again. Eyes open again. Learning to accept his reality.
We lay there together minute after minute in his crib. I tried to practice with myself the same things I had been practicing with him. Love. Compassion. Tenderness. Patience.
We'll figure out a way to get up.
But it might take a while.
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