Friday, November 18, 2011
Sometimes Quint will wake up happy and say that he "slept tight". "You slept tight, Mama?" "Yes, I slept tight." Papa slept tight? Yes, son, Papa slept tight. Hank slept tight? I think so. He didn't wake me up.
Some sunny mornings, after breakfast, he'll walk around smiling, patting his ribs, and say, "I'm happy Mama."
When I trip and stub my toe and just nearly cuss, he will offer to kiss and make it better.
When (miraculously) Hank hasn't been crying while I was out of view, he will wiggle all over and give me a huge open mouthed smile.
When Hank has been giving the most pitiful of pathetic cries while I was out of view, and I pick him up, he snuggles into my neck putting as much of his face and head skin against my neck, hold my shoulder with his right arm and squeeze.
Quint will frequently kiss his brother on the head. He will also sweetly say, "bwother cwying" as if he's sad to hear it (as opposed to exasperated like I probably am).
When I'm away from them for three hours, I want to wake them up to hug them but at the same time, want them to go directly back to sleep so I can go to sleep.
I love my boys and view my time at home with them as precious. They only bring me to the point of frustrated tears a few times a month, but the rest of the time is sweet and rewarding and exhausting and I wouldn't trade it for the world.