I always say nap time is the best time. Holla if ya hear me folks! I’m not one of those parents who gets bored or misses my kid while he sleeps. #sorrynotsorry.  And right now, the naps are getting shorter, but I am clinging to them for dear life, I tell ya. If a kid turns 3 and they still nap,  it’s only a matter of time before they don’t.  I’m just not emotionally ready for that. So I am embracing it while it lasts.

Besides the tiny bit of me-time that naps provide, I have another reason I love to see Stevie nap.  You see… when he sleeps, he is damn. near. perfect.  You can’t see his differences. You can’t tell he struggles. You can’t hear his frustration.

I get to run my fingers through his wavy, blonde hair.  No sensory issues show up.  There’s no shock to his system telling him it isn’t right.  Just a relaxed little boy.
His eyes are closed, his lids are heavy. No glasses, no thoughts of impending surgeries. You only see his mile-long lashes.
His button nose and smooth pink cheeks up close to mine are a favorite.
His lips are positively delicious. You don’t see his crooked teeth. Or that little rotten one. Just those perfectly shaped lips – they look like his daddy’s.  It doesn’t matter that he can’t speak. It doesn’t matter that he can’t communicate with his peers.  There are no meltdowns. He doesn’t need to ask for anything. No signing, no whining.  He is just here.
His feet are fine. They are big ol’ boy feet – no braces or worrying about arch support, just cute curled toes.
He doesn’t have anything to prove and his hands can just be. You wouldn’t know that he can barely hold a crayon or that he is has a hard time keeping up with everyone else.  His lack of fine-motor skills doesn’t matter.  You would only see chubby boy fingers grasping my sleeve – no hand-over-hand help, no making him try “just one more time”. Let your hands rest, my love.
You can’t tell he has a bad heart. You can see his scars on the outside, but his breath is sweet and his chest rises and falls in rhythm. His heart beat is strong and I feel the bom-bom. I don’t worry about his heart.  And he has no idea there’s anything wrong.

As his mommy, I don’t always see these little physical differences, but I feel his struggle and it hurts when you know things are hard for him.  These challenges are part of Stevie’s make-up, and I wouldn’t trade him with these so-called imperfections for anything else, but sometimes it’s nice to think of him in a more peaceful state.  To feel his heavy body.  To know he is in a deep slumber.  He doesn’t have to try and doesn’t have to worry.

God, if I didn’t have so much to do, I’d watch him sleep all day long.