Sometimes...

Sometimes...

I look at this person before me...not an infant...not yet a boy...but this person, with his own thoughts now, his own perfect personality. I watch each day as he grows bigger, and smarter, and sneakier. And I couldn't be more proud.

Sometimes...

The last three and a half years seem like a dream. Where parts of me want to fly away and experience the world, before they remember that something far more precious is right under my nose.

Sometimes...

I lie there on an ordinary evening, and the three year old touches my feet while playing and notices that they are cold... He runs to get a blanket and snuggles on top of me while we watch some cartoon that I won't remember. But I'll remember the way his elbow presses into my side, and the way his eyelashes seem to go on forever in sillouettes.

Sometimes...

I lie awake and worry about things that I have no control over...about war and government, and test results. I think that each moment in this life is too precious to waste. And suddenly it doesn't seem to matter that I hear him jumping on the bed, thinking that he's getting away with something. It doesn't matter that he didn't eat enough bites of his vegetables tonight. And it certainly doesn't matter that we don't have the fanciest house or the newest car. Because all I ever wanted is wrapped up in a 3T pajama set just 20 feet away, snoring as the faintest sound of Spongebob Squarepants is left in the dvd player, safe from the world, for at least another night.

Sometimes...