The fuzzy dinosaur blanket rises and falls as the minutes tick by. I rock back and forth in the patched, second-hand recliner, feeling every little twitch while I wonder what you’re dreaming of. White noise, the daily soundtrack of my life, fills the room while I make work of memorizing all the tiniest of details – the flutter of your eyelashes, the perfect upturn of your nose, the way your fingers have such a tight hold on my shirt, as if you refuse to let me go even in your sleep. No one warned me how much time could be spent simply watching a tiny sleeping face. The world is so quiet that just for a fleeting moment I forget that anything else exists. It’s just you and me. These moments feel like secrets between you and me that no one else gets the privilege of knowing. Mine to hold on to forever. I’m certain that in decades to come, these are the places my mind will return to. When I’m in a season where I’m able to drink hot coffee, the house stays clean, and my days are spent in such an opposite kind of quiet. Perhaps this is the moment of rest that God knew I needed. A pause to simply be present. I wonder if he can feel how much I love him. I wonder if one day he’ll look down at his own little love and finally understand just how much his mama loved him.
How many more times will he need me like this? One day, he will spend his last nap on my chest and I won’t even know it’s the last until long after it’s over. Every moment like this is a bittersweet countdown to the man I pray he will become. But for now, you still fit here. So we rock, and time slips away.
I have a million things to do, but nothing near as important as you, my little love. What a beautiful thing it is to be this needed.
