Jacq asked me (in her “the answer to this question is ‘yes’” voice) if I would bathe the baby while she did some laundry. The Days Inn bathtub looked easy enough to navigate, and I already knew the answer to the question, so I agreed.
I must not have bathed the baby in a few months. Last time I was in charge of infant cleaning he was a much less mobile child. This time he constantly crawled from one end of the tub to the other. By God’s grace and my right forearm he avoided drowning.
Clean? no. Done bathing due to risk? Yes. I grabbed a towel and draped it over him, but couldn’t get it all the way around because he thought the wiggling game sounded fun. Jacqueline looked up from sorting the laundry and laughed. She didn’t help. She just laughed.
A naked, half-dry, squealing baby in one hand and a full bag of diapers in the other, I waddled toward the bed. I laid him on the ground and frantically tore at the sides of the bag. The guy in charge of packaging over at the Huggies plant must have never tried to get into one of these puppies while his child scampered naked across the hotel carpet.
By the time I flung diapers all over the room opened the bag, LB was 25 feet away, diving head-first into our open luggage. All I needed now was for him to pee in our suitcase. Luckily, I jumped over Jacqueline’s piles of laundry and got to him in time to flop him onto his back and get a diaper at least 3/4 of the way on. Like a calf-roper on steroids, I felt a surge of relief at having avoided serious injury.
I glanced at Jacqueline who was trying unsuccessfully to hide her amusement. I collapsed on the couch and (in my “the answer to this question is ‘ok’” voice) said “He’s all yours.”
Benjamin is getting pretty good at walking. We are getting pretty good at lunging across the room to keep him from getting into stuff that previously was hard to reach.
Two nights ago, we did it. We stopped feeding our son’s addiction. It’s his earliest addiction. We posted about it over a year ago, and as of two nights ago, he was officially a junkie.
We chopped the end off of all the pacifiers in the house, and forced him (and to be honest, ourselves) to go “cold turkey.” (which, by the way, I’m interested to know where that phrase came from)
What amazes me about the whole thing is how similarly i react when my idols are taken away. If LB could talk in complete sentences, we’d make a lot of money on the TV deal, and he’d probably have told you two nights ago that there’s no way he could make it two days without the passy. It was his best friend, his comforter, his midnight rescuer. He can’t possibly make it without it.
My pacifiers are things like a bank account in the positive, one vehicle per adult in the driveway, a sense of control over situations, etc. Take one of those away, or even threaten to, and I panic. Like my son lamenting and wailing over the loss of his passy, I am convinced I’ll never make it.
And like I did by the side of his crib, God patiently calls out “It’s going to be OK. I am all that you need. Find your rest in Me…”
Like a good Dad, Jesus frequently cuts off the end of my passy, to help me see that He’s all I need.
One year ago yesterday we handed our 4-month-old to an anesthesiologist and said a prayer.
One year ago yesterday we had more individual viewers on our blog in a single day (by over 300) than any other day before or since.
One year ago yesterday we experienced something that, even today, we don’t like to look at the pictures of.
But God is so good. Though we deserve none of it, he brought our son through surgery to repair craniosynostosis and now, a year later, he’s doing extremely well. We are so thankful for how God works. He doesn’t treat us as our sins deserve.