Empty hours
It's 3am and I'm wide awake. Rich has a cold so he's tossing and turning and frowning in his sleep. So I'm curled up with Ian and studying every part of him while he sleeps. It reminds me of nights when Rich and I had our relationship stretched across 85 miles of highway. It was one of the last times I've felt such a strong urge to stop the clock. Rich and I used to talk about wanting "empty hours" where we didn't have a countdown until our next separation.
And now, in the middle of the night, I'm pining for empty hours again. I lie here on our flannel sheet protector covered in drool and sweat telling myself to pay attention to our perfect son. Remember what he smells like. Trace the curve of his shoulder and remember how soft his skin is. Listen to every breath and murmur as if they held a secret message.
Ian is sleeping with his belly pressed up against mine, his little legs tangled in mine, his fist tucked under his chin. Rich is quietly snoring behind me. The house is quiet. There's a kitty at the foot of the bed.
This is what forever should feel like. Even if I only can have a few more hours of it tonight.
Confident starfish
Long ago, I read some ridiculous article about how you could tell "your man's" personality by how he sleeps. If he slept on his side in a fetal position that meant he was insecure. If he slept on his stomach he was hiding something. And if he slept on his back he was confident. I can't remember which position meant what really other than sleeping on ones back was a sign of confidence. Rich said that my sleeping position is confident starfish because I sleep on my back with arms and legs akimbo, taking up as much of the bed as possible. He risks an elbow to the temple each night.
It appears we have our own little starfish on our hands. When not swaddled and left to choose his own sleep position, he tends to mirror my own poses and regularly pokes me in the side with his elbow or fist. We're raising a very cute and confident little boy.
