It's afternoon. The baby monitor makes a fuzzy noise. *thud thud thud* my mom brain knows he is awake and kicking his heels on the side of the crib, probably with his pacifier tucked between his teeth, crooked over to the side like a cigar, his bear clutched in his hand.
It's evening. Rough housing with daddy turns from elated giggles to overtired shrieks. It's time for bed. He grunts and I know to wait a few minutes before bath time to give him a chance to finished filling his pants.
It's nighttime and I wake to a sound of sadness. I know almost immediately that he sat himself up and is so sleepy he can't remember how to lie back down. I tiptoe in and tip him back onto his pillow and tuck the blankets back around him. I wait at the door for the sound of deep breathing that tells me it's safe for me to tuck myself back in.
The sounds of motherhood.
Isn't that a part of what makes parenting so exhausting? All senses are at the alert. Smells, sounds, feelings, touches all tell specific and important details about my baby boy.
It's getting easier. Learning his language didn't come all at once. When he was first born I felt overwhelmed thinking I should know what he needs better than I did.
He is learning too. The sound of daddy breathing in the next room, the bathwater running, the sound of the vacuum and the creak of his door all mean something in his little world.
Ah ha, and there is another sound right now. My little explorer is awake.