We lost power the other night for about an hour (smack dab in the middle of Survivor!) and, when it came back, I reset my clock about 20 minutes ahead of real people time. This got me up earlier than usual today, just me and the cats wandering around the house as the sun rises and creates a misty steamy sensation as all the water from a storm last night starts to evaporate.
But here’s what I got to see that I haven’t in a while: my baby sleeping. One of my favorite books to read to the girls is one with an impossibly simple name and which my not-yet-caffienated brain seems to have stowed very deep. Probably “I love you forever” and if I knew the author, I’d Google it. It’s a terribly old book, one my mother gave me from her collection when she retired from her gig as an Early Ed teacher/Director of college child care center. It tells the story of a mother who goes in to rock her baby, after he is really, really asleep, and sings him this song: “I’ll love you forever/I’ll like you for always/As long as I’m living/My baby you’ll be.” (the title of the book–can’t remember; the song and the tune I made up to sing to them–stuck in this spongy old brain of mine.)
Well, this mother does this as her child turns two, then nine, then 16, then she drives to his house, climbs in his window, and rocks her adult son, singing this song. Then he has a baby and does the same for his child, then goes to his mother’s house and sings the same song only “My mama you’ll be” while holding her on his lap and rocking her in a rocking chair.
It’s a silly little book that always made me cry…and makes me cry as I type right now (have I said what an easy cry I am?). So implausable, so ridiculous.
And yet, as I peeked into my eight-year-old baby’s room, all I could see was her beautiful apple-shaped face, framed by her arm stretched out around it. And all I wanted to do was hold her, rock her, and sing “I’ll love you forever….”