The Quilt that Gifted Sleep...and Connection [9/7/17]

I gently picked up the part of the quilt closest to me so as not to wake the babe and to make sure it wasn't touching the spit up that was quickly growing cold as it dried on my oversized tshirt in the cool breeze.

It was one of those early mornings where the feedings went well but the aftermath was less than pretty. Fussing, acting hungry but only doing so due to gas/reflux and to fight the gravitational pull of sleep. 

He's strong and will often push up on my chest, lift his 95th percentile head, and look me straight in the eye. During these infamous mornings he does this continuously--up, whine, down, whine, up, whine, down, whine. This is the signal for me that I won't be able to soothe him without the help of movement. Off to PawPaw's rocker we go. For over an hour after the 30 minutes we'd already tried, we worked to find the magic that would lead to sleep. 

Position one failed miserably. Position two quickly went up in flames. Position three was a lost cause. Position four prevailed, dragging him squirming and against his will to Dreamland.

I laid him down.

Two hours later like clockwork, here we go again. Same bit. Ate well, fought the onslaught of sleep tooth and nail. To NeNe's rocker we go. This time there are no positions that will bring peace.

Up on my feet, we gently bounce back and forth. The method seems to slowly be working on him, but I find it's working on me as well. We have to sit...but he won't let me. What will we do? It's a little before 8 now and the sun is up. There's a swing on the back patio. "It just might work," I thought, cautiously hopeful. I unlock the door and begin to step outside when I'm greeted by the unseasonably cool Louisiana weather. 

The swaddle I've wrapped around him isn't enough. I rack my brain and remember that, though I was certain we wouldn't use it, I packed his quilt. I shuffle to the back in rhythmic movements, snatch up the quilt, and swiftly wrap it around the tiny and slightly ornery human. We plop down on the swing as I hold my breath fearing his eyes would become wide and alert, starting our little circus all over again.

I push off the cold concrete with my bare feet and away we go. Construction workers are sawing and nail-gunning and singing and slinging boards next door, so I wait for him to stir. Nothing. I can soon tell he's reached the point of sleep where he will not return to consciousness unless provoked.

I breathe out a sigh of relief and breathe in the crisp air and faint smell of sawdust lingering nearby. I ran my finger down the rough cut arm of the swing, trying not to panic about nor disturb the gecko who was silently keeping us company there. I gazed out at the lake with its water traveling all different directions as the light from the sun glinted off of it and the trees that line the outskirts of the waves and ripples for miles. I listened to the clanging and clamoring of the construction and the whirring of hummingbirds' wings as they fought one another to make their place at the feeder.

It hits me that I haven't consciously used my senses in over a month. Nor have I been thankful for the truth of the Divine to which those senses alert me as they have loyally done so throughout my lifetime. 

For me, it's a season of feeling disconnected...from most everything-- people, myself, God not excluded. No blame to cast, it is merely reality. Thank God for the countless strong an selfless mothers who have come to me boldly proclaiming, "Me too." They are the ones who carry me. 

All energy, power, time, thoughts, feelings I have are being poured into the tiny and slightly ornery human. One day I will learn to reconnect--with people, myself, and God--and while today might not be the day things click on all proverbial cylinders...the quilt gave me a chance to glimpse, a chance to remember what it feels like to be connected and hope for the day when it will consistently be so once more.

For now, we do the best we can. We make sure his needs are met. We tend the circus that is fussiness and fighting sleep. And in the meantime, I think I'll keep the quilt on hand--looking for the next opportunity to use it in the open air, looking for the next time I can intentionally use my senses, looking for the next time I can experience those ever-coveted point(s) of connection. 

Who knew a quilt of all things could be such a gift?