Sitting in the rocking chair, holding little Asa. I trace the outline of his sleeping face, stroke his cheek and unwind from the day. A pang of sorrow for the pregnancy so recently lost and overwhelming thankfulness for the warmth of his cheek against my chest.
It is good to have a few moments to reflect. To cherish what is and miss what isn’t so it doesn’t get buried too deep.
Micah walks in and I’m annoyed. I don’t want to be disturbed from this moment. From this moment of bittersweet melancholy mixed with joy that seems to make up motherhood whenever I slow down enough to notice. And he’s supposed to be in bed.
“What do you need, sweetheart,” I try not to sound too annoyed.
“Me made up a song. Me want you to sing it.”
I just want to tell him to go back to bed. I don’t know what game this is that he’s playing with his bedtime, now, but I’m not in the mood. Still, there’s that twinkle in his eye like a child on Christmas morning so I try my best to set aside my irritation.
“How can I sing a song you made up in your head? I don’t even know the words.”
“Ok, me sing it.”
And he begins singing his lullaby in his sweet little voice to the tune of Jesus Loves Me.
Rock your baby back and forth,
If him falls then pick him up,
Nurse him nurse him ’til him full,
Love him love him, and kiss him cheek.
I smile. “I like that song,” I tell him. “That’s a very special lullaby and a very special gift.”
And I love how his eyes get that same twinkle every time he hears me sing his lullaby to little Asa. His gift to my soul.