Before I had a kid the image of a sleeping child being carried into the house from the car and laid in their bed was so iconic to me of what it means to be a parent. Perhaps because I myself remember how loved I felt when I got carried into the bed from the car. Of course since I remember it I was A) old enough (5?) and B) clearly not asleep and just faking (I can’t be the only one to do this, right?). A handful of times in the past weeks, I’ve had the opportunity to carry as sleeping little J (almost always after church on Sunday) from the car to his room.
I treasure these moments and sing the Brad Paisley song “Little Moments” to myself…”I live for little moments like that”.
If I were going to re-write the rest of the song about the little moments of my week that stand out I would write a verse about the almost 24 hours that my keys went missing because Alex handed them to little J when we got home from a party on Friday night. We tore the house apart looking for them and finally found them in the couch. I’d also write a verse about how the other day when I was folding laundry little J ran off down the hall and came running back a few seconds later with a toilet paper streamer (read: the whole roll still attached to the dispenser by the very last piece) in his hand and screaming with glee.
Little moments with a toddler. Little moments that make me smile now. Little moments that comprise my days. Little moments that I can’t say I live for but I definitely live in. “Little moments like that”.