two years old
Before naptime Michael reaches up to me and says " 'nuggle? 'nuggle?" so I put him on my lap and wrap both of us in the rocking chair and he tucks his head into my neck and says, 'Song. Mama, song!' so I sing him a song while I push us back and forth with my toe; and he's so entirely embedded in my arms, so wrapped up, I'm looking at him and I can remember being little, being cuddled up to my parents, enfolded, and it was warm and safe and all of a sudden my throat swells up because I'm happy I can make him feel the same way.
When the song is over I ask him if he's ready for bed, and he says 'Kisses, mama?' so I give him a kiss and put him in the crib and smooth out his blanket; and I know in my mind that he will get older, and he won't want kisses or snuggling, and when I sing he'll say 'Please stop, mom," so I'm just grateful for now, for him, for his two-year-old self; but part of me wishes he won't get any older, ever.
5 comments:
you never know. maybe when he grows up, you'll sneak over to his house while he's sleeping, and sneak into his bedroom window, and hold him like a baby and you'll say, "i'll love you forever... i'll like you for always... as long as you're living my baby you'll be."
...
on second thought, please don't do that.
man I hate that book.
I know. Even as a kid I can remember thinking, "What the hell?"
I'll tell you the weird part. Michael goes through phases where he loves that book. LOVES IT. he clearly doesn't know what's going on, but he wants to read it over and over. and he gets mad if I do any subtle editing.
Oh, this is gonna make me cry! I actually teared up a little.
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