Speaking of needs, I came across a realization of sweetness the other day.
While on bed rest with that hurt foot (one which has now thankfully mended — mostly!), D stayed home from work so he could look after O. Like most babies his age, O likes to move and be up to see the world, no matter how much we try to encourage his independent back play (many, many, maaaany times a day). I wasn’t really able to give him all that he needed with not being able to walk, so D had to take over.
As D was thrust head first into the experience that is my everyday life with O (something which he admitted made him feel entirely overwhelmed — welcome to my life, hubs!), I re-experienced some of what my existence was like before O. Laying around for hours, perusing social media like it was going out of style, watching Netflix uninterrupted — the whole nine yards. However, if and when O wouldn’t calm for him, D would seek me holding him as a reprieve.
And, after one time of having not done everything and anything for my son for a few hours (a very rare occurrence), he was given to me to help settle and soothe.
Once in my arms, something clicked.
Something fell into place.
A part I didn’t know was missing was now there.
My heart became sappy happy and got this strange full feeling.
My god, I realized. It’s not just that this kid needs me. I need him.
I. Need. Him.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve adored O since he crawled out of my womb. But need him? I don’t recall when that came to be or grew into my being.
And so, he was hugged a bit tighter, squished a bit longer and nuzzled a bit closer before demanding his desires of movement and exploration be met yet again.
Dad, and son, to my rescue.
