I came in to check on you tonight and you were still and warm under the blankets. I don’t know if you know this, but your cheeks flush red when you’re dreaming. Tonight I put my fingers on them and noticed how your skin is oilier, rougher. I sat by you with my fingers on your face and my other hand on your back, moving up and down with your breaths. I wondered what you were thinking about, cocooned there. I hoped you were slaying a dragon and hugging a kitten, a whole brood of kittens. I hoped you weren’t in a ravine with avalanches rushing in.
Anyway, this isn’t about how old you’re getting, or where my little baby has gone, or anything so trite. I know you’re growing up; I like it. There is one thing, though. I feel like I made you a promise I’m not sure about. Maybe I didn’t do it explicitly, standing in front of your duck-blanketed cot with my eyes all wet, but I made it just the same.Leave a comment | 2 comments