He is warm in my arms, head cradled against my bicep as if he’d be looking at my cheek if his eyes were open like when he was a baby. Cuddled with his body close and still after having a wave of emotion and crumbling into a little crying heap in his bed as he was going to sleep earlier, I feel his steady breathing. I feel his body’s little twitches as it settles in and relaxes.
I breathe him in and try to take note of every detail of the moment.
He is six and a little too big for me to be rocking to sleep, yet I know I won’t have this privilege for much longer as my little boy is getting bigger. Soon we both won’t fit in this rocking chair I was rocked in as a little girl, listening to the chair creak and squeak with every movement as it does now.
Just earlier he was saying how he wants to grow. Not learn more. Not do more. But grow. And grow he will.
He will become a young man so quickly. One I pray is God-fearing, loving and kind. But for now, he’s my little dirty-blond six-year-old who needs his mommy and I’m going to hold on to that for as long as I can and rock him to sleep tonight.