Fuzzy Mornings

I love mornings with my children. I love the moments when they first wake up and are still warm from their sleep. I love seeing J’s crazy cow-licked hair standing every direction possible. I love when he burrows into my chest, puts his head on my shoulder, and stuffs his hands under his tummy – finding the perfect spot to fully awaken. It is one of the only times during the day that I get to hold him and feel the weight of him against me. As soon as he is completely awake, he is off and running, and to hug him is to restrain him.

I love seeing A’s long hair, tangled and curled and still damp from her nighttime dreams with her pajamas slightly askew. I love her warm little body when it curls into my lap. Of the two children, she is my lap child, my snuggle-bunny. She still seeks the comfort of mommy’s arms. Throughout the day she will still ask to sit on my lap – to read books together. Those are precious moments – and I hope I’m building a web of memories she can recall later in life when she is alone or scared, like what my mom did for me.

I remember my mom telling me ‘don’t grow up – stay my lap child.’ I remember the day when I no longer fit completely on her lap. It was a sad day. Of course I compensated; I lay on the couch and put my head in her lap and let her stroke my hair, or leaned against her chest and listened and felt her talk. To this day, the most comforting sound in the world to me is when I can put my head on my mom’s chest and listen to her talk. It’s not just the sound of her voice, but the feel of it…the vibrations of her voice and her heart and her lungs. I wonder if it is what it is like to be in the womb and feel vibrations more than hearing words.

One of the things I miss the most about my mom is hearing her voice, feeling her voice. I pray that someday her voice will return, that someday I’ll be able to put my head on her chest again and feel her voice resonating.