We had a moment Saturday night, The Baby and I. One of those sweet moments that naïve people like me imagined would happen all the time once life included children.
Long ago my husband and I decided that we were going to continue our weekly ritual of dining out. You can read about our downward dining spiral here. Dinner ran a little late on Saturday as we had a few errands to run. Since The Baby had YoBaby in his hair and had rubbed roasted Peruvian chicken into his eye sockets, skipping a bath wasn’t an option. Because of the time, our almost-13-month old was fast asleep when we got home.
Sticky situation (pun intended), should we wake The Baby to give him a bath and bottle or leave him sleep and chance that A) he’ll go blind from the aforementioned Peruvian chicken spices or B) he might wake up at 3 a.m. and want the bottle we put him down without. We weren’t taking any chances.
After the quickest bath ever (partially due to tub poop, but this is a story about a special moment, so I’m omitting this dirty little detail), and a quick bottle, I carried my half-sleeping child to his room.
I held him in my arms and stared at his tiny face marveling at how much he’s grown and changed in the last year and trying desperately to absorb the moment because I know they are fleeting. I kissed his cheek and whispered, “I love you.” He opened his eyes. I blinked back a few tears. When I re-focused, he was smiling the sweetest smile I think I’ve ever seen. He reached up and touched my face – my lips, my eyes. And then he quietly said, “Dada.”
hhmmmffff. I know what he meant to say. :-)