Watching Babies Sleep

I remember the moment that it sank in that I was an actual parent…and I had no idea what I was doing. I was about one week out from my first C-section. My father-in-law stopped by for a visit and walked in to see me crying in my bed, my breasts hanging out, trying to get my son to latch on. I felt completely incompetent. I believe I yelled something akin to “GET OUT” to my father-in-law who proved to be a very forgiving man, and one that understood when you offer help and when you just run for your life. I think his next visit was about two weeks later after my husband assured him that my hormone levels had normalized.

That first two weeks were brutal. I was convinced that since Chris would calm down immediately when my mother held him, that he just didn’t like me. I wondered if I just didn’t have the capacity to parent. The one thing that kept me pushing forward was watching him sleep. There is something about watching a baby sleep in your arms. There is a level of trust that you see in their face – something that says, “You got it right. My needs are met.” This is typically followed by another round of “10 Things that I Need That Don’t Involve the Obvious Feeding and Diaper Change and How Can You Not Know This if You Are a Parent?” game. Ahhh…but for those moments, when they are nestled in your arms, you realize that sometimes, you can figure it out.

As time went on, I developed my mommy legs…and arms…and instinct. Through the years, I developed the ability to sense vomit quick enough to either grab a trashcan or get the ill child to the toilet, smell a lie from the first word, and know when to not only bite my tongue but glue it to the top of my mouth. I could turn off my sense of smell while driving eight teenage boys home from the gym and hear a curse word uttered under someone’s breath at 300 yards. I could calmly talk a child through febrile hallucinations and persuade a doctor to look further at my sons illness without making him hate me. I could get three children under the age of 6 into the house while carrying a weeks worth of groceries…in one trip.

Now comes grandparenting. As I flew out to North Carolina to meet my new grandson, all of those insecurities came back. I remembered my own mother and her confidence when she walked in with each of my newborns. Where did she get that?  I remember now, that my kids were not her first. She was an experienced grandma by the time my babies came.

I picked up Zander for the first time on Thursday evening. I haven’t wanted to put him down since. He’s had a tough time over the week. He has some ‘tummy trouble’ and since I was born with a tooth erupting, it’s not a far call to think that he is teething early. (As a bit of trivia – I still have the tooth. Not in a jewelry box, but in my mouth. I was missing three permanent teeth congenitally, two being a central incisors – or bottom front teeth. One has held on for 55 years…it could be defined as my oldest relationship at this point.) We have discovered that holding him facing forward while Grandma bounces on an exercise ball seems to help. He’s fallen asleep that way several times.

I watch my daughter-in-law nurse him and look at him with a tremendous love showing on her face. I watch my son take him during a full crying spree and walk with him without frustration. I watch his aunt bounce him and show pure joy in seeing his facial expressions.

And sometimes, I just hold him while he is sleeping…and think…yep, we got it right.