The One He's Always Known

I am the one person on this earth who Tate has always known.  

I read similar words tonight in Kelle Hampton's blog "Enjoying the Small Things" where she wrote about her second daughter's birth.  She mused about nursing her sweet baby, and how her baby immediately snuggled into the body of her mother, 'the only one she's ever known.'

And truer words have never been spoken.  In this picture of me below I am 7 days pregnant.  It was taken on October 31, 2008.  On October 24, 2008, I did my first home insemination.  Christian has always said he believes with all his heart that I got pregnant that first night.  And with my whole heart I believe it to be true as well.  This picture is the first picture of Tate and me, together.  He's there inside me, the only person he'd ever known at that point. 

And I was the only person he knew until July 23, 2009.

Amazing, isn't it?  From the moment of conception to this moment right now on September 11, 2012 at 10:06pm I am the only person Tate has always known.  Always.

Tonight he was having difficulty falling asleep.  I saw him on the video monitor tossing and turning, twirling his hippo lovey in his hands in the air as he always does to relax, going from stomach to back to stomach again, then his side.  He just couldn't settle.  No tears.  No angst.  No complaining.  Just restless.  After an hour, I decided to go upstairs and help him fall asleep.  I do this when it's getting late, as I know just being in my arms for a few precious minutes will enable him to go right off to sleep.

Tonight was no different.  I gathered him out of the crib along with his hippo and Sue-Y bear, turned the lullaby music back on and settled into the rocker with him in my arms.  He laid there with his sweet head on my shoulder just looking at me with eyes laden with sleep.  Initially, I rocked him a bit.  He was still looking at me.

Then I stopped rocking.

I just sat there holding my sweet baby, my little boy.  

He was asleep within 2 minutes.

After all, he didn't need music.  He didn't need the white noise of the air purifier.  He didn't need rocking.  He didn't need any of those things to help him fall asleep.

He simply needed the warmth, safety, comfort and love of the one person he's always known.