Reason to living

 Baba thrashed from side to side on the bed.  He was trying to sleep, but he was so wired from the shopping, from the lights, and from the drive.  He started to vocalize his frustration with "go", "bah", "ugh", and stringing them together like a broken lullaby.  He pressed his tiny form against mine and giggled.  Then he put his hand on my stomach and cooed.  I put my hand on his head and rubbed it.  He looks up and I meet his gaze.  His eyes are dripping with sleep, but full of gratitude and love.  He's 10 months old going on 40 years. 

I feel fuzzy from the pain and fatigue.  He's been sick for days and he's been a little needier, but he's also been exploding with new skills.  He's so excited that he keeps practicing, tiring himself out, then needing to be carried.  He can't just lie around.  He's either on the go or cradled in the carrier.  It scares me.
 
I don't want him to be like me.  I want him to learn to relax, to be at peace with laying still.  I want him to find the joy of stillness and quiet, to not be afraid of the thoughts that are stirred in the silence. 

He closes his eyes and smiles, rolling back to the other side, and let's out a squeal.  He rolls back and touches my thigh, squeals and rolls back.  I keep massaging his head, hoping it will relax him.  He starts to babble pleasantly, as he slams his arms onto the bed. 

I get up and get ready to wear him in the carrier, but my sister comes in and offers to carry him instead.  I gratefully give her the carrier and pick up Baba.  He's used to being carried by auntie.  They've become pals.  As I wait for her to put on the carrier, I wonder what I would have done without her.  She is my rock, my sanity. 

When we were children, I was her little mommy.  I used to take care of her even though I'm only a couple years older.  She says that I raised her, but now she takes care of me.

I watch my younger sister, my first baby, carry my child and I realize that I am filled with love.  There are two people in my life that I love unconditionally, who love me in return.  Isn't this why I push through the pain, the anxiety, and the sadness?

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Auntie and Baba at 6 months old