How many more?

The room is warm and dark. His still small body is encircled around me like a sloth, chest to chest. My thoughts slow to the present. The ceiling fan’s cadenced breeze grazes my skin and I feel my toddler’s breath, body warmth, and weight. There is a mere sliver of light bursting through a gap in the blinds. I sing. He is silent. We rock. I sense his calm and feel the smile on his face. I finish my melody of lullabies and continue to rock. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth…savoring the moment. And I reminisce, how many more?

How many more times will he lay on me like this?
How many more times will I get to rock him before nap?
How many more times will he say “up” to be held on my hip?
How many more times will he want me to read him picture books?
How many more times...?

Then I think about how many ends have crept out, unnoticed. The heartbreaking thing is — and I am so much more aware of this second child around — that oftentimes I don’t realize it is the last time until it is over. I’ve noted the first smile, first time crawling, first word...but what about the lasts? They go unrecorded because frequently, they slip by unseen until much later.

As I proceed to rock my growing toddler in his shaded room, I contemplate the lasts. If I recognized it was my last time, what would I do differently? I would attempt to live in that moment longer. So today I chose to soak in a few extra minutes of hugging and rocking before laying him down in his crib. 

Reminder to self: Be Present