Snuggles

I struggle to hold him still on the changing table as he twists his little naked body around to reach the light switch. “ight ahfffff!” he declares proudly, dragging out the ffff as though he were blowing out birthday candles. Not for another couple weeks, kiddo. I reach out to flick the light back on and spin him back around to secure the velcro on his diaper while he wiggles his feet in my face. “eet?” he asks. I grab one little foot and kiss its sole. MWAH. He grins. “Udda eet?” the other foot comes up beside the first, and I continue delivering kisses, MWAH MWAH MWAH, back and forth, one foot, two foot, while I get him into his shark pajamas.

I hoist him up and turn to set him on the floor, and he stops me, asking eagerly “Nunnel fuhst mommy? Nunnel?”

Of course.

Of course we can snuggle first.

Still holding him, all twenty-six wiggling pounds of him, I switch on the nightlight and pull the cord on the ceiling fan to dim the room with a click. I back carefully into the soft brown recliner and shift him into my lap, but he squirms free with a grin. “Cose! Cose dees!” he toddles to the bedroom door and pushes it closed with a click. He crosses the carpet to his crib and sticks his hand through the slats, all the way to his shoulder, to the very edge of his reach. He yanks his hand back out, triumphantly waving his frog Wubbanub. Half pacifier, half stuffed animal, “Bubba” is a snuggle time necessity. He pulls a blanket from the crib rail, pops Bubba in his mouth and walks towards me, stuffed frog dangling from his little face. He drops the blanket on my feet before lifting both hands up and out, and bouncing a little at his knees. The international toddler sign for “up, mommy.”

He’s heavy. The angle is awkward. I huff and I oof and I drag him up to my lap and he shifts around until his arms are in just the right places before he drops his head to my chest with a soft thud. He’s quiet except for snuffly breathing and the little sucking squeaks that escape around the pacifier. I wrap him up in the blanket and he wiggles an arm free, lifts his head, readjusts his shoulders, drops back down. He’s settled. He’s comfy.

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My mouth is right against the top of his head, and I kiss him. He doesn’t smell like a baby anymore. He smells like sunscreen and sweat, like an active little boy. But it’s the same weight on my chest, only heavier. The same little heartbeat, only stronger.

I don’t get to contemplate my toddler for long, because after thirty seconds of ‘nunnels’ he pops the pacifier out and looks up at me. “Suh-shyyy?” I sing for him, rocking, telling him he’s my little squirm-shine and he makes me happy. After three rounds of suh-shyyy, two baby belugas, and a twinkle twinkle, he pulls himself up and points to the space between the chair and the bedroom wall. There’s a pillow stuffed in there, is that what he wants? He nods, and the frog in his mouth hops twice. I shimmy the pillow loose and move it to the arm of the chair, and he immediately throws himself into it with a grin. I can’t see the grin behind the Wubbanub, but his eyes are bright and happy, and there’s one sweet dimple peeking out beside the pacifier’s edge. I grin back at him and his eyes sparkle brighter and the dimple gets deeper, and just the smallest “heh” escapes behind the frog.

I hug him tight, so tight.

I’ll snuggle you as long as you’ll let me.




One thought on “Snuggles

  1. Ginette

    That is just so beautiful. Nothing can replace the bond between mother and child. they grow up so fast..

    Reply

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