Son, I Don’t Want to Forget

It was magic.

And poetry.

Everything lovely.

And though last year was wild in its change and surprises, this moment was so quiet and special.

We were in our newly renovated home. It was evening and nearing your bedtime. I was in your room, not even half-finished in decor, but I made sure to have your colorful pom-pom garland and handmade felt goat mobile hung as soon as possible.

You were playing with your dad’s old light saber while the garland hung above in your unfinished room awash with soft light. It was summertime, so we were nearing your first birthday having spent a year in a truly beautiful season. The moment felt encased in a sort of calm wonder. Magic. That was, in the moment, the only word for it. There was nothing monumental about this moment.

It just was.

You and me.

I a mother and you my son.

Reality was gold. And that was magic.

And there are so many things I don’t want to forget.

Like the way you say truck and rock and car.

How sometimes you say “Bye!” to our surroundings as we leave the house.

The way you scrunch your nose when you’re being silly and how quickly you run out of bed to grab a book or a toy and rush back with urgency. I don’t say anything, but I do sneak in and grab the recycling truck from your bed after you’ve played and fallen asleep with your head against it.

I love when you say Mommy. Drawing out the first syllable. Or when you say “Ba-bye Daddy, Ba-bye Daddy truck.” I love how much you love to cook with your play food and dishes. Your sound effects. How determined you are. All the times you want to sit close to me or force-feed me your snack. And how you yell-sing during church worship.

I’m a fan of how you say “cook” for cracker and that you put your hand flat over your food and say “hot! hot!” to get out of eating it. (At least that’s my guess and mothers are good at guessing.)

You make the color blue alive with laughter and excitement and life. I think you’ve made your mother’s blue eyes brighter too.

I’m having the time of my life with you. I think I’ll be saying that forever. Getting old and gray has never looked better. A lifetime of being your mother. I treasure every moment.

You are music, son.

I love getting to know you.

I just love you.

Let’s go play now.


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