Don't Rush This

When I was pregnant I was so excited to have a newborn.  I had never really spent a lot of time around newborns, but always thought they were squishy, delicious, beautiful little bundles.  My experience with newborns was essentially, “Hi, I’m Katie. Nice to meet you.  Here, go back to your mom.”  I was excited to have a little butterball of my own to love on and cuddle.

And then John was born and I learned that newborns kind of suck.  They are really dysfunctional, tiny humans who can’t seem to hold their shit together (literally and figuratively).  So I spent probably too much of John’s newborn phase thinking “Just get through this part.”  I was so ready for my little guy to smile, laugh, play, etc.

John is no longer a newborn (he’s an infant…semantics, right?) and I find myself still doing this.  I just want him to sit up, eat food, crawl, etc.  It’s really not fair to poor John.

There is one time of day, however, that I never rush: rocking him at bedtime.  Feeding him before bed can take a while (anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes), but after he falls asleep and cuddles up I try my hardest not to rush.  It’s so tempting to throw him in his crib quickly so that I can go into the livingroom, back to my two greatest loves (Bud and the DVR).  But then I put John on my shoulder to burp him and the world just slows down.  It’s the only time of day his body is completely dead weight on my shoulder…his breathing is slow and deep… he is so peaceful.  I am fully aware this is going to make me sound completely insane, but I swear I actually hear the words “Don’t rush this,” some nights. 

So I don’t.  We’ll rock together until I can tell he’s ready for his crib.  Some nights he’ll stir when I put him down, but most nights he’ll smile and snuggle into his blankets while I walk out the door.