The *Mother*Load

It happens in a moment.  A span of 10 minutes.  But you know that you will remember it forever.  Last night was one of those.  I'm sitting in a dark room in a rocking chair with my newly, two year old son.  He is sleepily running his fingers over the navy satin of his blanket like he does every time he gets tired.  Its nice and warm and the only sound is the hum of the humidifier.  His little footy pajamed feet are sticking out from the blanket and I am singing him his favorite lullabies.  Always the same and in the same order.  I'm just like that.  And for the first time since he woke up twelve hours before he is still. 

After a few minutes, I feel his breathing slow on my own chest and think that he has drifted off to sleep.  So I slowly start to stand, but before my rear is even off the chair a little pointy finger pops up out from under the blanket, and a commanding voice says "SING!"

So I do.  And Donovan, he nestles himself back into me, closes his eyes again, and sweetly strokes the back of my hand with his tiny little fingers until he eventually does fall asleep to a medley of "Moon River" and "Edelweiss."

And that is the mother-load.  The ability to rock your baby to sleep at night.  Ten minutes that I wouldn't trade for a real mother-load of gold.