Vivi doesn't get the dance treatment before her nap time. Sometimes she drifts off while nursing, but mostly she's left to fall asleep in her crib or in her rocker while I zoom around the house trying to get other stuff done. It's tough being the second child.
Madeline still holds roughly eighty percent of my attention and thoughts. This is partially because I've had a lot of practice worrying over Madeline in the past three-and-a-half years. Partially because Madeline demands a lot of attention...loudly. Partially because it's easy to function on auto-pilot while taking care of a baby. Change her, rock her, feed her, repeat. Meanwhile, my brain is elsewhere.
I'm not saying this is necessarily bad, and I certaintly love Vivi just as dearly as her sister. This is just how it has to be. Yet, when I catch Vivi so sweetly and quietly watching my every movement from across the room, my mommy guilt comes knocking.
Today, Vivi had a tough time settling down for her nap. After I finished tidying the kitchen, I scooped her up for some snuggles. Madeline usually comes to around the second she sees me with Vivi, but she was happily engrossed with a game in the playroom.
As I held Vivi, she didn't wiggle against me or crane her neck to observe the room as she usually does. Instead, she rested her cheek heavily against my shoulder and sighed.
I brought her into the kitchen and we danced to the music I had playing. She didn't move at all as I swayed and spun her around. Her whole body stayed relaxed and heavy in my arms. I glanced in the mirror a few times, certain she'd be sleeping only to find her eyes wide open.
We danced through so many songs I lost count. We danced until my arms ached and my back grew sore. When I gently put her down nearly an hour later, she looked up at me and cried. She didn't want to stop.
Parenting is a demanding, and often thankless, job. But it's moments like these, when you realize that this little person loves and needs you more than anything else in the entire world, that make it all so worth it.
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