Lullaby

A baby's deep sleep breath -- it's like a lullaby to the parent.  Not much outside of my children's absolute peace and contentment, like they have in sleep, can be such a good lullaby to me.  Little is sleeping and her tiny sounds are a lulling white noise in the form of an eraser, removing the list of to-do's on mind.  That is my lullaby right now, putting me into an afternoon nap.  It is amazing how many things are no longer important when a nap is offered.

If it's not for your own nap's sake, there's the baby's nap to consider.  Even things of importance are deeply challenged when it means a high chance of waking the baby.  Just earlier the kids were knocking on the door to be let in, but the tiny one had just fallen asleep on my arm.  Even though I heard a thunder clap, I mean there was a split second where the decision to get up and wake the child was a real struggle as I knew it would be a struggle to get her back to sleep.

That reminds me of this past Sunday when we went fishing with my brother Donavan.  The baby was in a sleep struggle and Donavan busted out his cell phone's playlist with a lullaby.  Wow, I don't even have lullabies at my fingertips.  He is going through some changes and without formally making it a plan, it was just natural for Brant and me to take him on family outings with us.  It was quite genius that the family outing ended up being fishing, because I had yet to get an anniversary gift for Brant and since he needed a fishing license and since the first anniversary gift is paper, his license ended up being the perfect gift.  The trip didn't last long because there was a game Donavan needed to watch and because I ran out of wipes.  During the one diaper-changing session while we were out, I happened to go through 3 diapers and all of my traveler baby wipes...and still get pooped on.  Nevertheless, she was so happy wriggling in the mess of poop that was on my lap, and screaming to be cleaned of it.  It's like the way I clean spilled milk from her neck rolls.  She throws an infant hissy fit as if she was saving that for later.

I didn't get a fishing license for myself.  It would have defeated its purpose as a gift for Brant, and it was more enjoyable to watch the males interact.  It was good for Bam to have his day golfing on Thursday, bowling Saturday night, and then fishing on Sunday.

It started worrying me that my son was getting a bit of middle-child syndrome from me.  I realize that we are often occupied with Amira's fast growth into teenage-hood and all that comes with it.  Just this past Saturday Brant was telling me how a teenage boy's dad was making nice conversation with him.  When I asked what about, he replied, "The betrothal."  He was totally joking, but I don't know which one people would think is worse -- that I believed him or that I am open to such a discussion.  That's one of the things that occupies us:  the thought of her getting older and preparing for the path God has for her.  It is serious business.  Everything I do now, the way I raise the kids, care for my husband, get out of bed and manage the house, the way I teach Bible study, the way I react, my attitude...is all with this constantly in my thoughts:  she's learning from this.  Amira often occupies me mentally and Elisha occupies me physically.  My poor boy sort of gets lost in the middle, as he gets responses from me that are not much above "uh huh," "that's cool," "shhh the baby is sleeping," "not right now," "later."  I feel so badly.  This morning he happened to arise and fancy into my room at an opportune moment of Little being fast asleep, but not opportune because I was deeply into Bible reading.  I put it down and spent a few minutes alone with the boy -- no big sister who often out-bosses him, and no little sister who can out voice him.  I mean, you have to live the Scriptures too.  The time with my little boy, who I once thought was going to be my last child, was very soothing to me.

However, more soothing than my time with him is observing Brant's time put into him.  I am happy to sit back and watch that relationship grow.  He teaches him badminton and golf; talks to him past his fears of the water, spiders, and the dark; will hold conversations with him about Minecraft and Legos; watches movies with him; gives him tasks...  Even the other night I was trying to put the baby to bed and Brant was in the other room spending time with Bam.  The last of it I heard was Brant reprimanding Bam for his disobedience, but even then it put me to sleep just listening to them.  It wasn't that it was boring, but everything about that boy's relationship with his "Dad" is so soothing.  In play, talk, or discipline, there's a peace about him when he is with Brant, a peace that that night was my lullaby.