Friday, April 18, 2008

Love

Dylan has finished his lunch. He's a big eater these days, and we're sitting on the couch while he tops off with a bottle. He's ensconced on my lap, with one leg up in the air, absent-mindedly flexing at the knee: up and down, up and down, varying the rhythm here and there with a point of his toes or a turn of his ankle. Since he can never totally relax, he's got his right arm stuck straight up, his fingers curled in a tight fist. The heft of him is soothing; his proportions fit mine perfectly - his rear in my lap, his head in the crook of my elbow. I look down at his thick blonde hair - so long on top - and I melt. I bend my face to his fist and kiss those sticky little knuckles, inhale the sweet graham smell of them.

And I know this is exactly what they are talking about when they say you will look back on these days and wish they had never ended; that they could stay exactly like this forever and never grow up.

1 comment:

Kerrie said...

This is the sweetest post, and so beautifully written!
You've perfectly captured the wonderfulness of these baby years!