approaching two

Last night cemented another way in which Boo is growing up.

He woke up around 3am crying and screaming. This wasn't the normal "ignore him and he'll fall back asleep" stuff. This was him, standing in his crib looking at the door all freaked out and waiting for someone to ease his fears. So I went in there and changed his diaper and brought him to the rocking chair for a bit of cuddles. He was shaking like a leaf, a mixture of fear and chilliness. I turned the fan off in his room. I think I'll be taking it out of there soon.

As we sat down, he burrowed in close, tucking his arms into my robe and snuggling under his blanket. Gradually he relaxed, and I could feel his body sink heavier against mine. We hit the point where I asked, "Are you ready to go back to bed?" and all I could see was this little hand sneak out and point at the crib. Because I wanted to prolong the sweetness of the moment, I delayed a bit, enjoying the feel of his small body, the sound of his breathing... A minute later, I asked again if he was ready, and again he pointed.

As I settled him down, his face started to crumple. I kissed him and told him I loved him, and he bravely helped me with his blanket. I brought him his little Scout, and Boo clutched him fiercely. Still, that sad face remained... So I dug under his crib for the pacifier that had fallen out of his mouth sometime in the night and gave it to him. That seemed to help, and so I stroked his head and told him I loved him one more time (because I don't think you can tell a child too many times that you love them) and bid him good sleep.

I heard a soft whimper as I entered my bedroom and took my robe off to crawl back into bed, but nothing after that. He slept well and woke up in a wonderful mood, and we had our morning snuggles and sillies. But the thing that will linger in my mind is the look on his face, that bravely trying to not dissolve into tears but to help instead.

THAT is my son. THAT is who Finn is. And I freakin' love him with all my being.