My son is five months old.
maple mulberry's blog
My son is four months old.
I hold you. Your bird like profile is turned to the light: a bedside lamp you stare at with almost religious adoration. Your tiny face in front of mine, your bum curled into my arms and legs dangling at my tum. Several times a day, in my arms after a feed you turn to the light. These are our quiet, peaceful moments when you are full and I hold you, breathe you, feel you. This is how I know you.
And I think of how you are travelling to eighteen. How, no matter what I do in many ways, you will get there, god willing. Yet this is fleeting, for if we are blessed, in two decades you will be a big, strapping lad, stoppy even and I will no doubt miss this. But for now, this is all I know as I begin to accompany you on your Great Big Journey to a place I cannot begin to imagine.
There are days this feels like a prison sentence.