Thursday, October 22, 2015

You are my World

Every night, when I get to tuck you in, I hold you tight and try to memorize the feel of your warm bodies against me.  The way they fit in my arms.  The way your heads fit just right into the crook of my neck, or on my chest, or my tummy.  The way your little hands curl up between my breasts, or around my waist, or twiddle with my hair.

The way you throw your little legs over my leg.  Or the way you spoon your little body with mine.  The way you tuck your face into my neck and face.  The way you smell like little girl mixed with dirt and paint.  The way you sometimes want me to tuck you in, and others, in your own show of independence, you do not.  The sound of you as you suck on your tongue.  The way you ask me to leave your door open, and sometimes you ask me to come back in and tuck you in, just one more time.

The way you crawl up in the glider when we go to your room.  The way you let me pick you up and sit down with you on my lap, the way you look up at my and simply say 'nurse mama.'  The way you nurse, and insist that my arm stays around you.  If I move it, for even a second, you reach up and pull it back to you.  When I hold you before putting you in your crib, I try to memorize the weight of you.  The smell of your hair, and your neck.  That smell that lingers on baby boy while toeing the line into just boy. The way your head rests on my shoulder while your legs hang down past my hips.

Every night, when I check on you just one more time before I go to bed myself, I watch you.  In the silence of the night when you are at your most peaceful, I try to memorize the way your eyes and nose fit in your faces.  I try to memorize the way your little mouths hang open, just a bit, as you slumber.  I watch to see your chest rise and fall, and I cover you if you've kicked them off.  I apologize if I got short with you today, even if I already apologized while you were awake.  I try to remember these moments, because they will be gone too soon.  I try to not to think of the day that you won't want these cuddles, that you'll go to bed without begging for one more story, or one more song. One day you'll simply stop asking to nurse, or you'll stop asking me to check on you just one more time.

I try not to think of that day where you go to bed wanting these kisses and cuddles, and you'll wake up too big for them.

Because no matter what I do, and no matter how much I want it, I cannot slow down the process, nor can I stop it.  You will grow up, and I don't want to forget these moments.