Friday, April 17, 2009

Ruthie

Ruthie fell asleep in my arms on the couch just now and I was loathe to put her down. She had her little arms around my neck. So trusting. So peaceful. So vulnerable. I could feel her warm, sweet, milk breath against my neck and feel her chest rise and fall, her weight so precious in my arms. This is such a wonderful time, a time of connectedness, a time for me of receiving complete love. Her sisters were whispering around us in their play, conscious of her sleeping presence, putting their own babies gently to sleep. Snow is falling outside. It is a time of tucking in, a time of feeling the specialness of family and nurturing connections inside before the whirlwind of summer outside play truly begins and this moment of babyhood passes. A time that will be gone so soon. So much to value in the moment of now.

2 comments:

katie said...

Because I've been asked...
No, I wasn't still holding Ruthie while I blogged about holding her:) I put her down because Josie was asking me to snuggle. Ruthie was already asleep, so her needs were met and she wouldn't care if I continued to hold her or not. That was for me. She actually probably got a better nap since I put her down, away from her quiet but bumping sisters. And they can only be quiet and remember to whisper for so long. I needed to move on from that sweet moment with Ruthie in order to meet the needs of my next girl and have special time with her. But I enjoyed soaking up every sensation of it in the moment while it was happening, and then enjoyed my moment with Josie. I actually put Josie in the Ergo backpack to snuggle while I picked up the house, which met both of our needs, and we sang a song about Ergo snuggles and how much we like them while we did it.

akamilby said...

Ahhhh. That was a sweet post. I love sleeping babies, they feel so good snuggling against you, all limp. I miss that feeling. I'm glad that there are moments some days where you can appreciate that feeling, that it's not too busy and stressful, as it could be. Missing you,
Holly