There is an occurrence that happens every day around here that never loses it's impact.  Every day, at around the same time, I get the chance block out the world for a few minutes.  Every single day, I think to myself, "I don't ever want to forget this."  But I might.  And so I'm writing it down.

Nighttime around here is hectic.  Between Leo's hungry whines and Patrick's question after question and Hatch getting into absolutely anything he can (usually the dog food), it's not uncommon that we're a little overwhelmed by the time dinner gets on the table.  Frequently, Hatch gets overlooked as he sits quietly and eats his meal.  Come six-thirty, that quiet little boy starts to get the signature tired sweats.  He may start to fall down.  He rubs his eyes.  A few swings from his sippy and a fresh diaper later, and he's ready for bed.

He'll wave night-night to Adam and he's down the hall to his room.  With the lights out and the fan on, Hatch takes one look at me and, without fail, effortlessly swings one arm around my neck.  The other, he pulls in next to his face and he lays his head on my shoulder and closes his eyes.  He just stays there, perfectly still aside from the rise and fall of his back, as I sway him for a few minutes before putting him down in his crib.  Those few minutes, in (nearly) perfect silence, with the smell of my sweet baby's fine hair and the sweat beads on his nose...they are precious.  And fleeting.  And, more than any other part of his baby-ness, I will miss these minutes together horribly. 

No matter my mood, I always find myself looking forward to putting Hatch to bed.  As I lay him down and fluff his blanket over him, sometimes he laughs, closes his eyes, and lays there with a tiny smile on his face.  He makes life so simple.  All of the boys bring with them such an awesome gift, (each one as necessary to me as the next) and this is his--his easy, simple, happy persona.  My greatest wish for him is that he never loses it.  (And, Hatch, if you are reading this one day and you feel like you have, find it.  It's beautiful.) 

It occurred to us this weekend, as we dropped Hatch off for his first overnight, that we don't have a baby in our house any longer.  Technically (although not to me), Hatch is a toddler.  He requires no special baby equipment.  No bouncy seat, no bottles.  He can sometimes tell us what he wants, he learns new tricks every day (the newest of which was stealing his brothers toys, which was very quickly followed by learning how to make a run for it).  No more baby at the Waldens.

No more baby at the Waldens.  Sigh.