i'm the only one who's given him a bath. i cherish the touch of his butter skin against my mama-worked hands; my palms linger in fat-roll creases like his wrists are smiling, and i grin right back. i test that water tepid and smell that soap lavender, and i just know these are my moments to drink right full.
i wrap him in a big, fluffy towel the way eternity would, because our now is all i have, and i want to remember the tiny holding when he's too big to wash and wear. i tender-wipe off lingering droplets, and tender-coo him into snapping pajamas all warm.
he lies between us at night, but really, he's still all mine-mine to let down milk and mine to curve a "c" around in groggy half-awakes. the world is ours at 3 a.m., though neither of us sees beyond the other. he drifts back into milky sleep, my starry child, and i claim the details exclusively: don't grow up yet.
4 comments:
this made me cry.
love. it.
so glad you have eyes to see and a heart to cherish the beauty in the now, when i know there is also sleep-deprivation and spit-up and all of the myriad little foxes that could sneak in to spoil your joy.
I didn't realize how fast they grew. With the next one, I will savor.
This was lovely.
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