Today, at eight weeks, was the first time I felt like a tried and true mom.
Simon was in his swing when he got fussy this afternoon. He had been fed and changed, he wasn’t over- or under-dressed, and his reflux seemed fine. So why was he crying?
I picked him up, suspecting that I was in for a 20-30 minute crying jag, when he melted into my arms, nestled his head between my chin and chest, and almost immediately fell asleep. I hadn’t swaddled him. There was no shushing or swinging or side-lying. Just me cooing at him and holding him.
I think he was crying because he wanted his mom. Me. Imagine that. I got a bit teary (happy teary), settled into the glider, and mostly ignored NPR while I listened to Simon’s sleep-heavy breathing and enjoyed a few moments of pure joy.