How many hours of my life will be spent in grocery store parking lots with a sleeping child in the backseat? How many extra miles will be driven with one hand on the steering wheel and the other draped awkwardly into the backseat to hold the pudgy hand of a cranky tired child who needs his mother’s touch in rush hour traffic?
He knows the words “uh oh,” and “no,” and only says “maamaa,” in an emphatic demanding tone. Clearly he knows he’s the boss of my heart.
His pudgy toddler hands clench together barely able to hold the glee. His whole body trembles, and his laughter is borderline maniacal clown, when he learns he’ll get a small package of m&ms, or some other treat.
Sweaty warm naptime cheeks. The way he reaches out for me when I sneak away to pee. We laid together like that yesterday for three hours. Is he getting sick? Did he know mama is bordering on a nervous breakdown and obliged with extra dream time?
The day he climbed into the backseat by himself. His determination to play with play dough for an hour instead of eating dinner. His infectious laughter as he chases the dog down the hallway. His overdramatic head hanging and pouting when I’ve scolded him or told him we can’t flush his cars down the toilet.
In one day there are a thousand and more moments I want to save forever in my heart.
boof & monk-monk 