Every night, my wife and I pass by our son’s room on our way to bed. As we open his door, we can hear the monsoon that is blaring from his white noise player.
Quietly, we sneak up to his cot and peep our heads over the top, as close as we can get without invading his space. His sleeping position is always a mystery. On his stomach with his arms stretched out, one arm under, sandwiched in the corner, legs popping through the cot bars, up against the wall, knees under stomach, nappy in the air or perfectly on his back with arms wide open. No matter how uncomfortable his pose, he looks at peace.
My favourite is when his head is up against the white balustrades, facing the front. It’s a prime viewing position. I can literally plant my face up against his. The fine blonde fur-like baby hair keeps me at a distance and I can feel and hear is baby breaths. Their speed tells me what type of dreams he might be having. My wife gives him a dim glow from the monitor light. His skin still so new to the world. I gaze over every tiny facial feature in a state of bliss and wonderment. What could such an inexperienced earthling be dreaming about right now?
I look up at Amy who is gleaming with the same dopey smile on her face as me. I wonder what he’d think if he were to open his eyes. Would he see our smiles for what they are, or would he think “what the hell are these creepy weirdos doing!?” For Amy and I to feel exactly the same thing as one another in the room for even sixty seconds brings us closer than ever. We are sucked into his beauty and tranquillity with complete awe. If I’m feeling bold, I’ll put my finger in the half curl of his tiny hand. He involuntarily clenches.
As I take one last look at him, I fight back the urge to wake him. Or even worse, EAT him! I quickly remind myself that I’m not a feline, and send out my wishes of happiness and good health before I leave the room. It’s the best way to kiss the day goodbye.