if you’d stayed little like all mothers sometimes hope,
then I wouldn’t smile so brightly now watching you toddle in your bright yellow boots.
and one day standing in the kitchen, I’ll be having a conversation with a man, and I’ll wonder how it happened. I’ll think back for just a second to once upon a time when you fit perfect in my young arms.
but you’ll say, “Mom,” and I’ll look back at you instead of everything, and I’ll think how much I love that you didn’t stay put in those bright yellow boots forever.
timeless string of moments, never enough. much too wonderful to miss. . . here is my grown son.
so don’t stay small forever, son, because I want to know just who you are once you grow out of those bright yellow boots.