Rush

I worked with a woman recently who told me that she had to work to support her “kid habit”. I laughed and told her that I had to remember that. Tonight, as I look at the soft, sweet, sleeping, snuffling bundle in my arms, I know that this is true. I too, am an addict.

Aside from all the sleep deprivation and the numerous frustrations, there are the soft, chubby hands that reach out to stroke my arm or pat my neck as he eats. It’s the leg kicking belly laughs, it’s the sweet soft skin, it’s the hands that reach out to grab my face and bring it near to kiss. It’s the arms that hug my neck, the head that tucks under my chin, the legs that circle my waist. The sleeping weight in my arms, the child that leans in trustingly, that I want to squeeze into my heart.

I love that my children want to be near me, that I can scoop them close and inhale them, dusty powder scent (Gabriel) and sweaty baby (Israel) and all. I can hold them tight, and for a while, be their world.

They are the pull that makes me long to experience their every moment; in moments, they are my heady rush.