Beside me you lay, asleep, slow breaths. In your favorite "suppa hero" shirt.
When I told you it was nap time you asked if you could "sleep in Mommy's bed." And when I told you no, you started to cry... and that mommy voice deep inside told me to pick my battles, and also reminded me that you won't be little forever. So I listened and changed my mind. You quickly stopped crying and ran to your room to "get my blankey."
The same worn, puppy-dog blanket that has been your favorite since you were born. The blanket with a hole here and a stain there, colors faded, but clean and smells of lavender. The blanket your Aunt Lynnette made for you before you were even born. The blanket I must swiftly and carefully sneak away from you to clean. The same blanket I've seen you drag from your room since you could walk.
We climbed into the big bed together, snuggled close and I read you the new library book, "I love my Mommy." You listened quietly and asked if the big raccoon on the cover hugging a baby raccoon was you and me.
"Yes," I said and kissed you.
Afterwards, you rolled to your side, like you always do, and asked me to scratch your back and sing you a song.
I sang... you are my sunshine, over the rainbow, and Jack and Jill. And Jack and Jill another two times because of special request.
I gave you kisses and scooted over to my nightstand and grabbed a book to read until you fell asleep.
And asleep you are.
The house is so silent I can hear the hands of the clock in the living room.
You deserve moments like this.
And I don't think I even need to say this, but I know I'm going to miss this...