One morning last week I sat in my warm bed after Sam had drunk himself into a milk coma and just held him, his soft, velvety head tucked under my chin and his warm little body rising and falling against my own. As I gazed out the window and watched the squirrels run through the neighbor’s giant oak tree in the weak autumn sunlight, I wanted to freeze time. I wrapped my arms around him and drank in the moment.
My little boy will only be a baby for a short time, and yet I imagine he will always be my baby in a way. I thought of how it must feel to be my parents: seeing their youngest all grown up and caring for a little one of her own. I thought about how I can hold my son tight for a time, but sooner than I like I will have to let him go. I thought of Sam all grown-up and imagined the man he might be. I thought of the things I needed to accomplish that day and how they could wait a few minutes more.
Linking up today with Just Write at The Extraordinary Ordinary.