When Sam was very small, he had reflux. It was managed somewhat by medication (he was just a few weeks old when he started vomiting blood), but we had to try a lot of things before we could get the poor little thing any real relief.
When he was about 4 months old, we discovered that if we fed him, then lay him in his pram, slightly inclined, he could settle and fall asleep. It was actually the only way he could fall asleep. (Made a huge rod for our backs, in fact, because it was 8 months before we could get him to sleep anywhere but his pram - long after his reflux had settled. But that's a whole other story).
It was wonderful to find a solution that made him feel better. Except, there was a part of me that was just so sad. We discovered it by accident one night, and we weren't game to mess with it. And then the following night, nothing we did (i.e - our former routines) worked anymore. Sam no longer wanted cuddling to get to sleep. He was done with the sling, done with resting on my shoulder. Done. He needed to be rocked in his pram.
It's fine. It worked. He started sleeping a little better. But I felt like I never got my chance for that last "sleepy cuddle", if that makes any sense. I always felt like had I known this was my last one, I'd have held him for hours. Had I known he wouldn't let me do this again, I'd have literally stayed with him the entire night. But I didn't. There was no goodbye.
And calling it a goodbye, I guess, sounds more than a little silly and over-dramatic (as I'm want to be). But it's how I felt. Much the same, I imagine as breastfeeding mothers feel when their babies self wean.
The last time I held Sam, and felt his body relax into mine as he drifted off to sleep, he was 15 weeks old. He'll be 3 in just 3 months time.
Today, about an hour ago, Sammy came to me. He's cut out most afternoon naps, and is coping ok. But he walked up to me and asked me to pick him up. "Hop up huggie", he said.
I of course, picked him up right away and rested him on my shoulder. He was restless so I lay down on the bed and held him in my arms. He nestled his head into my breast, put his hand over my heart, snuggled right in. And it happened.
Literally, not 2 minutes later, his breathing evened out and I heard his gentle snores. His body was completely relaxed, and Sammy fell asleep in my arms.
He lay there, hand over my heart and slept for more than forty minutes. Every time I'd move, his breathing would pick up and I'd feel him start to come out of it. I'd lower my head and press my lips to his forehead and he'd relax once more, just like he used to.
It's been 2 and a half years since he has fallen asleep this way. And today it was effortless, utterly beautiful. I had washing to do, dinner to start and I didn't care about any of it. I was determined not to let go of my moment. This may be the last time a child of mine falls asleep in my arms. Maybe it won't, but I'll be damned if I was going to miss a single second of it.
I feel like he's given me a gift. I don't think I'm ever going to forget how I felt at that moment.
(Thank goodness for school holidays and a big brother who wanted to take a photo).
