He pulls my face and grabs it close. With slobbery lips he leans in, open-mouthed, face-planting.
Pulling back he squeals, pleased with himself, sure of my approval.
Tiny fingers grip my hair, the easiest thing to grasp.
I wince, knowing why so many women cut their hair once the babies come.
His eyes still blue, they sparkle and smile.
Once toothless grin is replaced by little bunny teeth, a sign of growth, of newborn no more.
Happy flailing of arms and kicking of feet tell me that life is good.
Captured by my every move, he thinks I’m the most beautiful person he’s ever known. Also the funniest.
And I love that.
Little baby, so sweet, so small. So strong.
How will you ever be a curious 8-year-old?
How will you ever be a gawky 13-year-old?
How will you ever be an adventurous 17-year-old?
How will you ever be an ambitious 29-year-old?
Little baby, I like you just the way you are.
You’re more mine now than you ever will be. I like it that way.
I’m in no hurry to change things.
Q for you: Do you have children? How do you see their current age?
Click Clink Five | Five minutes a day, unedited.