Last night I was awoken by a crying baby. Fumbling my way out of the bedroom I glanced at the microwave clock- 1:40am. It's been awhile since Luke last woke in the night. He cried as if frightened and I found him standing in the crib reaching out for me.
Half asleep I put him in bed with us. This faithfully never works. He became more upset, so I scooped him up and paced the hallway trying to calm and determine if he had a fever, or perhaps was uncomfortable from his jammies. The poor child wouldn't calm down, and I was beginning to worry about our neighbors at every angle.
The glider rocker in our bedroom hasn't been used for rocking since the summer. Lately the only purpose it serves is an excuse not to hang clothes in the closet. With baby in tow and in the complete darkess I threw the clothes from last week on the floor and cradled the big boy on my shoulder. He quickly calmed as I whispered I loved him and rocked slowly. He fell asleep and we were soon back in our own beds.
This has to be at least my fifth post pouting about how big my little baby is getting. I would like to think that all little boys need to rock-a-bye with mommy every once in awhile. I'll take it, even if it means getting up in the middle of the night to do it.
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