I’ve been lucky with my baby girl, Pink. She’s only really been sick a couple of times in her (almost) 16 months. A far different experience from her big brothers who both had a terrible time early on. Yes, I’ve been spoiled with this one.
Until Saturday. Pink woke up feverish, sniffley, and out of sorts. While it’s just a run-of-the-mill fall cold so far, she’s not taking it well. After all, she isn’t used to this nonsense.
She wants to be held. Constantly. So you can imagine the state of my house and the frustration level of her (rather demanding) big brothers. I keep counting the ways I’m falling behind while trying not to get stressed out.
Then today, when she wouldn’t nap, I went in and rocked her. I forgot everything on the other side of that bedroom door and sang (trying to remember as many unlikely lullabies as I possibly could). She wiggled and wriggled trying to get comfortable. After getting her to sleep (finally!) a couple times, I tried to put her down in her crib, but she wouldn’t have it.
So I held her. I curled up in the rocker and simply held my sleeping baby. I thought back to when she was itty bitty and this was our thing, cuddling. And I looked at her sweet lips, parted in an unconscious attempt to breathe in spite of a stuffy nose. I admired the way her hands still ball into fists when she sleeps. I ran my finger softly along the soft baby skin on her cheek and arm. I felt the weight of her head and growing body — and silently acknowledged that she won’t be a baby much longer.
And I found myself grateful for this moment. Don’t get me wrong, I want my sweet girl to get better. Quickly. But oh how I will cherish the cuddles that come with my sick baby Pink.