Sunday afternoon I laid down in the bed with Anderson to take a nap. He had fallen asleep for a few minutes in the car on the way home from church and woke up as soon as I got him out of his car seat. I had hoped that he would doze back off, so we laid down together in my bed.
Anderson cuddled up to me, and I thought he was about to fall asleep when he flipped over and snuggled right up to me, so close that our noses were touching. We sat there like that for a minute when he reached his precious, chubby little hand up and started softly rubbing my check. He kissed me on the tip of my nose and said, "lu lou" which is Andersonese for "love you." It was such a sweet moment, and I was filled with sheer wonder about how much I love my boys. I was sitting there thinking about how quickly they grow up, getting all sentimental and sappy on the inside, and y'all, I swear that my ovaries were twitching with the thought of possibly having another baby just so I could experience this moment again.
And just like that, sweet moment over, Anderson flipped back over, sat up and shook his hands at me (baby sign for "all done", indicating that in his opinion, nap time was over. I wrestled with him for the next hour trying to make him understand that nap time was not over, but eventually I lost the battle.
I got up out of the bed, beyond sad that my chance to take a Sunday nap was long gone. Before I made it to the kitchen to get Anderson a snack the tick-tick-tick sound of my biological clock was long gone, and I was left with the sound of two rambunctious boys squealing with excitement that nap time was once again over.
It's a crazy life, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Even a long Sunday nap.
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