The boys have shared a room for about 3 years now, an arrangement that has worked amazingly well for the most part. The past few weeks, however, Quinn has been taking longer to fall asleep at night, and been more talkative at bedtime, to the point of keeping Donovan awake. So Quinn and I have been laying down in my bed, instead, where he falls asleep, and then later in the evening I transfer him over to his own room.
I have been surprised at how fond I am of this little ritual now, of moving him into his own bed. There is just a sweetness to it that I cherish. I walk into the dark room and approach the bed, gently pulling back the sheets I reach over to the sleeping figure-- which might be all stretched out, or curled up in a tight ball, or laid out horizontally across the whole bed-- and gently start to pick him up. He wakes up just enough to startle slightly, then wrap his arms around my neck burying his face into my neck and shoulder, hugging me tight in his slumber. His grip is reminiscent of his infant days, back when he wanted nothing other than to be held in my arms all day (and night) long. I slowly, quietly, walk through my bedroom door into the shared bathroom, and then into the room he shares with his brother. As gently and slowly as I can, I lay him down in his own bed and lay his blanket over him. He rolls over, pulls the covers up to his chin, and mumbles something about wanting me to stay with him. He usually goes right back to a deep sleep. I kiss his cheek and smooth back his hair, watching his face which looks so sweet and calm as he sleeps. No matter how frustrated or angry I felt with him at any point earlier in the day, in that moment all I can feel is my heart bursting with how much I love this little person. How beautiful he is— the curve of his nose, the softness of his cheek, the shape of his lips… they are the epitome of perfection, as far as I can tell.
What is it about those quiet moments in the dark, that make and break your heart at the same time?
The other day, in-between his running around and jumping on my back and wrestling with his brother and otherwise being rambunctious and wild in every way he could think of, at one point in the day he paused and looked at me and said, “Mom, am I never going to nurse ever again?”
“No, sweetie. I’m sorry but you will never nurse again.”
I weaned him a good year ago, he was about 3.5 years old. There have been a handful of times in the past year when he has said something like this, either asked about nursing again or told me he misses it.
“But we can hug and kiss and cuddle as much as we want, for always, ok?” I add, to reassure him. He came over and gave me a hug.
We’ve been listening to the Harry Potter audiobooks in the car, and I don’t think Quinn is paying as much attention to them as Donovan is, but he still is following along with a lot of it. Recently he told me that his favorite character is “The big hairy guy, with the big hands.” I laughed out loud, because while I had not thought of it before, of all the characters in that whole world Hagrid is probably the most perfect match for Quinn. Rough and big and loud... and yet with a tender, sweet, sensitive inner self. It’s a perfect fit.
And I could totally see Quinn wanting a pet dragon.