:: Last night we three squeezed onto a bench for two, the little guy pressed against the train window, lest he miss even a second of the experience. I smiled. “I like our little family.” I can’t wait for we three to become we four…but this threesome has been absolutely delightful. Daddy and Mama each holding the hand of happily tripping, running, hopping toddler as we make our way down the street. Laying heads on pillows with his little head between. Dinnertime filled with proud parent eyes focused on little man’s latest antics. We three. What fun it’s been.
:: At the dinner table, Ryan was playing his favorite game with Jameson. (“Say, ‘Dog’. Say, ‘Cat’…”) He threw into the mix a few new ones, including, “Say, ‘Danica’.” Jameson smiled and promptly responded, “Mom.”
Made me smile. Yup. I’m your mom, kiddo.
:: I wrapped a stack of presents last night after he’d been put to bed. Presents for his second birthday. Amazing. Not just that he’s already two years old, but that he’s lived two years of life and all that means. I feel like he just got here, but no. He’s already spent two years watching, learning, developing, figuring it all out.
:: Sweet little arms circle my neck in his sleep. He stirs a bit and whispers, “Mom… Mom,” and drifts back to his slumber, assured that I am still there. I watch his face as features relax, find stillness for those few hours. Little nose, sweet mouth, long lashes on soft cheeks… How can it be so wonderful, and so deeply sad, all at once?
I watch him in the rearview mirror while we drive along. He is noticing it all, no longer a babe, but a little boy, learning his world. The CD plays a familiar lullaby: “I don’t want to kiss you goodnight / I’ll just keep on holding you tight / ‘Cause baby I know you’ll change and you’ll grow / You’ll get bigger with each morning light…” And I remember. I remember cradling his newborn body in my yet weak from delivery arms, singing that song while tears streamed down my face. I knew then that this babe of mine was born to be a man. He’ll make me proud. But there’s an ache there, too. He says a new word, and I beam, but sometimes a tear slips out before I have a chance to hide it. Sometimes I squeeze his little hand, so happy to hold mine, just to know he’s still my baby. For now. For a little while.
And I’m going to love this little while the best I can.