In Which I Rock As A Grandma

Littlest Man is spending the night with us tonight.

At the tender age of 28 months (two years and 4 months for those of you who are not parents of young children), his energy knows no bounds. This is one reason I was happy to work my part-time job tonight and to leave All The Running to The Girl and The Boy and The Grandpa.

I got in about 10:30, and as I came up the stairs I heard Littlest Man crying. Seems as though all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't get Littlest Man to go to sleep.

Enter Her Royal Highness, the Grandma!

I picked him up and asked if he'd like to rock for a while. He said "Uh huh, Gamma" between sniffs and calmed down a bit. We went down to the rocking chair in the office, and "Gamma" sat down.

"Wock, Gamma!" he commanded.

And "wock" we did.

It took all of 3 minutes for him to be sound asleep, but I continued to rock him for another twenty. Not because I thought he'd wake up, but because I miss it. I miss the little arms around my neck, the little head on my shoulder, the utter comfort of that weight upon my chest. I miss the unconditional trust and love of a being that small. I miss the sweet baby smell, the smell of baby hair, and the little limbs that go limp as they let slumber take over. I miss being able to lay the sweet baby in bed without him ever opening an eye.

Sigh.

I know I could never, EVER survive another child at this age, and frankly, I don't want to try. I know that even if God were to perform a miracle and give me another child to love 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, I would end up in some mental institution somewhere, rocking back and forth, back and forth, all day long while singing a tuneless "Nonny, nonny, nonny" to anyone who invaded my own little special world.

I know this for a fact.

And that's why God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, created the role of Grandma for me. It allows me a little bit of Heaven here on earth, in the form of someone who's two.

Thank You, God.