His hair smells like strawberries.
There’s silly monsters on his pajamas.
He’s still struggles to climb on top of his bed.
His foot finds the toy box and he throws the other leg up.
We find a wow-wow, or three, under the covers and he carefully wads them up in his hands, against his chest.
His little fingers search for the tags. He knows they’re there; I’ve resewn them a dozen times now.
I hold him, his head against my chest.
His body still cradles perfectly against mine.
I’m on the edge of the bed, like always. One foot anchored to the floor.
I rock, back and forth.
As he giggles and snuggles.
Comin’ for to carry me home… Swing low, sweet chariot…
Twinkle, Twinkle. Little Star. How I wonder…
He’ll say, “No, not that one,” before I even finish the first line.
…this I know. For the Bible tells me so…
I move on to the next song.
Hush, little baby, don’t you cry…
He’ll be another year older tomorrow.
I’m holding on tighter tonight.
Even though that berry shampoo and the last three years have long washed away the smell of his newborn head, I faintly remember.
I breathe him in, nuzzled up close to me.
I savor this moment. I long to remember. I long to hold on.
Lord, let him be little.
I pray that even though tomorrow is his birthday, that these moments will continue.
Because really, what changes from one day to the next….
But just in case, I close my eyes, and rock slow. Sing soft. Breathe in…
“Rock faster, Mommy. Rock faster.”