Fleeting

Bedtime at our house is usually David’s thing. I’ve gotten in snuggles and had valuable time with the kids during the day, and am running out of fuel 12 hours into the project. He hasn't gotten to see much of them and they love the extra time with him. It works.

Tonight David had been mowing and came in to take a shower around bedtime. Cole had just gotten out of the bath and was ready for his tuck-in. He was a little put out that David wasn’t ready for him.

“Will you lay with me?” he asks me.

“Honey, just go get in bed, Daddy will be there in just a little bit,” I respond without making eye contact. I’m already out of mommy-mode and have settled comfortably in Deleise’s-computer-time-mode.

His lack of response and sound of his little feet traipsing up the stairs snap me out of my screen trance. I tiptoe behind his trail and nestle myself next to him in his bed.

“Mommy, do you spell line L-I-N-E?” he asks me as I breathe in the smell of his freshly shampooed hair. “That’s right.” I confirm.

We stare out the window at the leaves blowing on the tree, his radio playing softly in the background. He tucks his body into a little ball and nuzzles against me letting out a content sigh. He feels tiny. His soft, damp curls touch my cheek. I can see his profile in the dim light and my heart flutters as I notice he looks just like he did when he was a baby. The sudden urgency of his fleeting smallness hits me like a train.

We snuggle in silence except for the occasional random thoughts he verbalizes.

The whole experience was uneventful, but somehow at the same time, completely profound.

And I can't believe I almost missed it.