Crying from upstairs sends me skipping our stairs as I wrap my robe.
He never wakes at night. My mind races to a fever or a fall, hoping it’s just a bad dream that I can talk away.
Outstretched arms and trembling lips are waiting for me at the door, even though I could have swore they were just in a crib a few days ago.
As I lift him, the weight and length of the boy he has become surprises me in that way it does lately.
There is no request for juice or toys or to lay in our bed, just the drift of his head to my shoulder.
I test out our old pace. Back and forth, baby to my chest.
Back and forth from nightime feedings to three stories before bed.
Back and forth from pureed peaches to a sandwich with no crust and an apple.
Back and forth from feet curled at my waist to a step stool at the sink.
Back and forth from a tiny life nestled under my heart
to a four year old still lulled to sleep by its beat.
Back to newborn memories of yesterday
and forth to little boy adventures of tomorrow.
Linking up again with Shell for Rockin’ the Bump, you can see my first Rockin’ the Bump post here.
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