In a moment of freedom, Kate ran downstairs to grab milk and oranges for the girls while I snuggled Sam on the couch.
While she was gone, I realized what had just happened and I teared up.
I had taken care of a little boy who wasn't mine by blood, or even by marriage. Just the very special baby of a very special friend.
He was offered to me to hold by his momma who needed a physical break to sit on the floor and play with her daughter and goddaughter. While Kate engaged the girls with blocks and kitchen toys...and then broke up disagreements regarding ownership of said blocks and kitchen toys, Sam and I cuddled up and got comfortable.
Quickly he realized that I was NOT Momma. That newborn little face started to wrinkle up and his pink lips began to quiver.
Don't cry little guy. Don't wail. I can't calm you down. I can't do it. I can't take care of a baby. It will be embarrassing. I will have to hand you over while I suffer through my anxiety attack. People will wonder why I ever had a child to begin with.
But then something clicked. He cried and I shushed. He wailed and I bounced. He calmed and I soothed.
And then he snuggled and slept.
And I cried.
Thank you, my dear godson. Thank you for being you and trusting that I am capable of comforting and safe enough to snuggle.
And thank you, my dear Kate for allowing me the honor of calling this precious child my godson.