watching indy sleep
I wrap my arms around him, feel the warmth of his skin and I know I am not supposed to be anywhere else. I lay with him in his own little bed as he snuggles up against me. Every inch of my mask, my defenses, my darkness simply melt away. And what is left, is something I have never felt before.
He stretches his arms and legs, rolls across the bed, and bumps into the wall. I watch his blue eyes open and his pouty lips smile as he sees me there. And then he goes quietly back to sleep.
I stare at his sleeping face, his smushed lips, the rise and fall of his little belly, and his hair strewn across his face. I don't want to be anywhere else, I don't want to be doing anything else. I want to burn this into my memory, this feeling, this image, this moment, this love. I don't want to allow myself to ever forget.
He fills the hole inside me that I never knew I had, a space inside me long forgotten. He loves me in a way I've never felt before. He makes me love in a way I never knew was possible. And he holds me in a way that makes me feel like I am holding myself as a child. As if I am learning to love myself as I love him.
And then my mom tells me, "You're going to turn around and you're going to be 50." And she's right. In those 16 years between then and now he will slowly move further and further away until he is gone from me in the way he is here with me now.
I don't want to let go of him. I don't want to let go of me, of this me that feels so complete. This me that feels so full of purpose. This me that feels so alive, and loved, and needed.
If I was born to do anything, it was to be here, right now.
How can I hold onto this?
How can I make sure I never forget?
How can I hold myself like he holds me?
How can I love myself like he loves me?
I am going to turn around and he is going to be driving away from me. But I will still be here. I will always be here, right here with him. Holding him through the night and staring at his peaceful sleep.
I am going to turn around and the world will be the same, but everything will be different. There will be no little boy waking me up with, "time get up mommy." There will be no little hands reaching for my cheeks, no little voice whispering, "kiss mommy" and no little lips kissing my face good morning.
And that terrifies me.
And I'm not ready.
And I am crying as I write this, as I sit in his room and watch him sleep.
But it doesn't matter, because there is nothing I can do to stop it.
It is going to happen. I don't have a choice.
He stretches his arms and legs, rolls across the bed, and bumps into the wall. I watch his blue eyes open and his pouty lips smile as he sees me there. And then he goes quietly back to sleep.
I stare at his sleeping face, his smushed lips, the rise and fall of his little belly, and his hair strewn across his face. I don't want to be anywhere else, I don't want to be doing anything else. I want to burn this into my memory, this feeling, this image, this moment, this love. I don't want to allow myself to ever forget.
He fills the hole inside me that I never knew I had, a space inside me long forgotten. He loves me in a way I've never felt before. He makes me love in a way I never knew was possible. And he holds me in a way that makes me feel like I am holding myself as a child. As if I am learning to love myself as I love him.
And then my mom tells me, "You're going to turn around and you're going to be 50." And she's right. In those 16 years between then and now he will slowly move further and further away until he is gone from me in the way he is here with me now.
I don't want to let go of him. I don't want to let go of me, of this me that feels so complete. This me that feels so full of purpose. This me that feels so alive, and loved, and needed.
If I was born to do anything, it was to be here, right now.
How can I hold onto this?
How can I make sure I never forget?
How can I hold myself like he holds me?
How can I love myself like he loves me?
I am going to turn around and he is going to be driving away from me. But I will still be here. I will always be here, right here with him. Holding him through the night and staring at his peaceful sleep.
I am going to turn around and the world will be the same, but everything will be different. There will be no little boy waking me up with, "time get up mommy." There will be no little hands reaching for my cheeks, no little voice whispering, "kiss mommy" and no little lips kissing my face good morning.
And that terrifies me.
And I'm not ready.
And I am crying as I write this, as I sit in his room and watch him sleep.
But it doesn't matter, because there is nothing I can do to stop it.
It is going to happen. I don't have a choice.