There is something serene about watching my son sleep.
My son is constantly moving while awake, and his intensity and restlessness, whether happy or otherwise, is exhausting. When he’s happy, he bounces around with complete joy and excitement, blissfully unaware of the intensity of his emotion and actions. When he feels loving and sweet, he curls up in a ball, crushing next to me, wiggling all the while to get even closer. When he’s stressed, upset, or angry, which all look very much the same, he stiffly paces around the house, throwing his hands and arms around, needing to get the negative energy away from himself, or perhaps wanting to share it with us, hoping we understand.
The peaceful expression of sleep on his face, his body momentarily at rest, curled up tight around a balled up blanket. He moves, and spreads out wide, taking up as much space as he possibly can, the balled up blanket tucked in close to his face. He would be much more comfortable in his bed, but he fell asleep next to me on the couch, and I’m not ready to move him quite yet.