L. and I were talking the other day, about everything and nothing and those moments - the ones that you want to live in forever, because they are perfect.
It's been awhile, I'll confess, since I was stopped dead in my tracks by that unmistakable, "God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world" feeling. WAY too long, actually.
And then today...I had one.
It certainly wasn't a perfect moment - not joyful, not bliss. In fact, it downright sucked.
Matthew has taken to imitating Luke - his cries, his laugh. Matthew crawls when Luke does, splashes toilet water when Luke does, copies his younger brother's clapping, his squawking. Every. Damned. Thing.
At bedtime Matthew wanted my attention. Badly. So, while I nursed Luke to sleep across the hall, my beloved firstborn stood in his gated doorway and waiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiillllllllllllllleeedd. Screamed. Demanded. Cried. Stomped. Kicked. And waiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiillllled some more.
I think my blood actually boiled.
Finally, when he'd woken poor Luke for the fourth time, I'd had it. Arranged hiccup-sob-sleeping Luke in his crib and stormed into the hallway. Yanked Matthew up over the gate and fairly tossed him into the playroom: Is THAT what you wanted, Matthew? OUT???
Defeated, I unhinged the gate and sat on his floor, waiting, fuming, raging. In he came, confused, a little wary, maybe a little bit afraid.
"Mummy, will you snuggle me?"
And of course, this tired, fed-up, WITCH of a mother, did. Climbed into his Thomas the Train bed and wrapped myself around him as best I could. He leaned back against me, sighed and then reached up to tug my hair:
"Thank you, Mummy," and fell asleep.
It certainly wasn't pretty, this moment. But it has burned itself onto my heart forever.
Thank you, Matthew. Again. Always.