The Baby, After All

My #2 has been sick lately. Home from school last week on Wednesday, complaining of an ear ache, sore throat, headache, then miraculously (after an Advil,) he was better. He never really ran a fever so I continued to send him to school.

Almost each night, after the medicine would wear off, he has found his way into my bed. Snuggling with a 5 foot 1, 109 lb., 9 year old isn't quite snuggling with your average 9 year old. Ya know? His body is heavy in sleep, yet his little boy-ness pastes himself.as.close.as.he.can.get. Sometimes you'd think he was trying to crawl back inside of me.

His breath is labored from a stuffy nose; slightly snoring. His hand reaches our for my hair, and once found, and audible sigh. Relief in knowing that his mama is close.

He used to do that as a baby. While he was nursing he would hold a lock of my hair, twist it in his fingers, pull it close to his face. Sometimes he would twist so badly that his hand would get stuck, and I would be left wondering if I would have a bald spot in it's place. It's always been his 'comfort spot.' My hair.

Tonight, after a day at home, a trip to the doctor, antibiotics, and a rare afternoon nap, we were on the couch together while watching the BCS Championship game. Talking interceptions, rushing yards, and whether Oregon could catch the Tigers, and slowly,

he reached up...

and held my hair.

He's still my baby after all.