Isabelle has been sick for over a week. Nothing serious, just a cold, congestion, and cough. But with that congestion and cough combined, she's been throwing up pretty regularly - the congestion "primes the pump" according to Ray. Her throwing up has been pretty manageable; she's historically been a "happy spitter" so we're in no way unfamiliar with milk spit up.
Tonight, we put Isabelle to bed like normal. We've been trying out the Cry It Out process, and she's been doing pretty well. Tonight, she cried off and on for a total of around ten minutes, then quieted down. Suddenly, I heard her screaming out of no where. I considered letting her cry it out, but it was a strange enough outburst that I figured I'd better check in. The poor kiddo was sitting up in her crib with real throw up (not casual spit up) in front of her, and a second round coming up.
I pulled her out of her crib. Ray stripped her bedding, while I stripped her pajamas. We cleaned up, and I laid her down in our bed to try to get her back to sleep. She sat up, crawled around, I'd lay her back down, and she was back up and at it again. This kid doesn't slow down lately! Finally, she was laying quietly, though still with eyes wide open. I laid on the bed next to her, avoiding all eye contact, so that she didn't think this was playtime.
Suddenly, Isabelle sat straight up. She looked directly at the moon nightlight turned on in the hall and got a big smile on her face. The light shown on the top half of her face, the bottom half shadowed. Isa started chatting; babbling, giggling, and clapping. She never once looked at me, so I have to believe that none of this was a show; she was just excited to be looking at the light and avoiding sleep for a bit longer.
I watched her as she continued this for the next five minutes. I watched her big, round eyes shining with all the innocent happiness that only babies can have. Her mouth twisted and widened with shouts and laughs and smiles, and I had to lower my head so she couldn't see me smiling back. I was so happy to see her there, the sadness of her earlier pain forgotten.
I had to write this down because I never want to forget her joy, her sweet pleasure in such a simple thing as a night light. Or maybe it wasn't the nightlight at all, but some incredible, unknowable, beautiful thoughts dancing through her mind. I never want to forget the swell of pride and happiness and near-painful love that I felt for this incredibly perfect human being. Being a mom is the best.
