Little Man
You pull away from nursing, rocking your head from side to side before you settle it down upon my breast with your eyes closed and your lips pursed back; a look of pure satisfaction on your tiny chubby face. These are my favorite moments. You snuggle up against me and it feels like love. As I curl my body around you and prepare to drift off, I wonder how much longer you will be willing to nap with me. Will the time be shorter because you are a boy?
When I go to visit my parents I will often curl up in bed next to my mom. We'll lie there, heads nestled on pillows, while we chat about life and family, daydreams and memories. But it's hard to imagine curling up in a similarly gossipy fashion with my full grown son. Of course, my sister is proof that gender does not dictate closeness. Her and my mother are lucky to get through a five minute conversation about what to have for dinner with out arguing; the intimate confessions of a sleepover-esque chat session are not in their dynamic.
And what will we be? Right now you are my cute, chubby, baby boy. You smile when I walk into your line of vision, and stop crying when I pick you up. A part of me wants you to stay small and endearing forever, and a larger part of me can't wait to meet the person you're going to become. There is that small, ever present voice, however, that warns of fights and hatred and "You never understood me." I do not doubt that the intensity of my love for you will remain constant, but as your dependency on me lessens, will these moments that feel like love lessen as well?
As I curl my body around your small form and you nuzzle up against me, I can't help but wonder, "For how long?"
From Scrapbook Photos
When I go to visit my parents I will often curl up in bed next to my mom. We'll lie there, heads nestled on pillows, while we chat about life and family, daydreams and memories. But it's hard to imagine curling up in a similarly gossipy fashion with my full grown son. Of course, my sister is proof that gender does not dictate closeness. Her and my mother are lucky to get through a five minute conversation about what to have for dinner with out arguing; the intimate confessions of a sleepover-esque chat session are not in their dynamic.
And what will we be? Right now you are my cute, chubby, baby boy. You smile when I walk into your line of vision, and stop crying when I pick you up. A part of me wants you to stay small and endearing forever, and a larger part of me can't wait to meet the person you're going to become. There is that small, ever present voice, however, that warns of fights and hatred and "You never understood me." I do not doubt that the intensity of my love for you will remain constant, but as your dependency on me lessens, will these moments that feel like love lessen as well?
As I curl my body around your small form and you nuzzle up against me, I can't help but wonder, "For how long?"
From Scrapbook Photos