And I'll be holding on to you

Naptime and bedtime are the bane of my existence. Jules will fight, and riot, get up 600 times, and literally climb the blinds. But for some reason, when I am dangling precariously over the edge of sanity, I will look into those big doe eyes and I'm putty.

When I have threatened and all but beaten him into a bloody pulp, I usually resign and just climb into bed with the little booger. I will take a deep breath, wrap my arms around him, and all those frustrations fall away. When he was just learning to talk, he would drape my arm over his little body and say, "Mommy, schnuggle me." Nothing has changed; Jules would schnuggle all night if I would let him.

Today was frustrating. Cora is teething and Jules was particularly grumpy. Add in the two kids I watch in the mornings, and boom, instant headache. I wanted nothing more than peace and quiet at bedtime so I could sit under my snuggie with no pants. The kids had other plans. Nate struggled to get Cora down and was only successful with vigorous rocking and a little assistance from good ole Tylenol. Jules was just missing the flashing pacifier as he raved in his bed. Even after we read a few books, he was still going hard.

As per usual, I climbed in his little bed, the vinyl sheet crinkling beneath me as Jules snuggled up next to me. I just wanted the kid to go to sleep so, I was mildly annoyed when he asked for one more song (which is code for every song I have ever learned). I sang everything in my repertoire, repeatedly. But as I laid there recalling the lyrics to Baa Baa Black Sheep, my face buried in his hair, I wanted nothing more but to keep that moment frozen in my mind.

We talked, we sang, we giggled, he asked questions about life, and I soaked it all in and squeezed tighter. He gave a scenario in which Daddy went to the dollar store to get an energy drink, and he dissappeared and went to Heaven. Since our dog died a few weeks ago, he has been very intrigued by the idea of death. He told me he would be so sad if Daddy went to Heaven.

Then Jules asked what I would do if he dissappeared. The thought made my heart ache. I told him I would cry because I would miss him so much. His question prompted me to tell him about my miscarriage for the first time. I told him I was supposed to have another baby named Lucy but she died before he was born. He got tears in his eyes and he said, "Oh, no! What happened to her?" I told him about how she died but then he started growing in my belly and I was so happy he could be here. He grabbed my face with both hands, brought my cheek to his cheek, and said, "Mommy, I'm so sorry."

Had I not slowed down and taken the time to sing one more song (or twenty), I would have missed such a beautiful moment with my baby boy. I cannot even count all the times in a day I want to throat punch that little turd. But then, these beautiful moments happen and all the frustration, and fits, and arguments melt away into nothingness.

In this sweet interaction, it hit me that there will come a day when he doesn't want me to lay with him. He won't need one more song. He won't need Mommy's arms wrapped around him. Laying with each other blowing raspberries, telling stories with silly voices, smooches, and ticklish snuggles will be nothing but a fond memory.

I am ridiculously blessed to have such a wonderful little boy for a son. He brought so much light to my life when I was in such a dark place. Eventually, Cora will need those snuggles, and I am ready. But until Jules tells me otherwise, I will love the crap out of that kid. I will pinch those sweet little cheeks until they fall off because, he is my baby and that's what a momma is for.