Baby love

Alexander has always been very touched by music. Whenever music comes on—be it in a movie or video game or session of General Conference—Alexander will turn to his nearest sitting companion and whisper, "I like this music!" Sometimes he can't help but wiggle to the beat, or, if it's really getting to him, he'll hop up and dance. 

This afternoon he was listening to primary music on his "phone" and he came to me, rather weepy, and blubbered, "I found a new song for me and for you, Mommy. It's our song. It's about how you're my dearest, dearest mother, and I love you! And I do! And that's why it's our song. And it's so special to me and..."

He kept talking but was crying so hard I could hardly understand what he was saying. Tears were streaming down his sweet little face. 

I pulled him onto my lap and we sat there and listened to (and practiced singing) the song while he hit the "play again" button over and over again. He had me sing it for him at bedtime, while he stroked my face and hummed along. 

He's the sweetest, most tender little thing

The song is "Dearest Mother, I Love You," a song that I somehow escaped primary without learning (but a song I think Alexander will have learned before he gets to primary (in about two short months—how is that even possible?!)):

Gentle words I hear you say.
Your kind hands help me each day.
You’re my mother kind and true;
Dearest mother, I love you.

Babies often prefer their mothers, I find. But Alexander...he prefers me. It's almost comical how profusely he showers me with love—telling me that he needs me every minute of every day, saying that I'm his favourite part of being two years old, and picking out a love song for me. 

It's good for my heart, I think, because I'm having a terribly hard time leaving my child-bearing days behind. I know in my head that we have a handful of children and that that's a lot these days. I know that I'm getting older, that my last three pregnancies were complicated and that any other pregnancies would also be complicated and I'm tired of life being complicated. I'm tired. I know that I'm tired. I've also reached a point in my life where my entire family insists on putting me down for a daily nap so they can do what they want (full disclosure: I sometimes use that time to write or work on schoolwork because the kids won't bother me while I'm "napping"; it's almost like putting them down for quiet time, except they won't agree to quiet time unless they think I'm napping) and it's really nice because I've never had that kind of alone time before. I know that I'm in grad school now and that's supposed to be my passion project. I know I should be content. I know a lot of things. 

But none of that knowledge helps my heart ache less, so I'm happy that my last baby took forever to learn to walk, that he always wants Mommy to carry him, that he loves me so intensely. I even love that when he gets up in the middle of the night, only half of the time it's because he needs to go potty. The other half of the time it's because he "missed" me and needs a midnight snuggle (though I take him those nights potty as well).

Anyway, he's a sweet, sweet baby (of three years) and I'm afraid I'm going to keep babying him for as long as he'll let me (since it's a thing he's resisting more and more every day anyway so I'm sure he'll insist on growing up regardless).