O Child

O child, my own…you’ve begun that lengthening into Boy. Fingers in the mud, dribble of that last popsicle down your arms, you delve into the earth like you delve into your pancakes. Never silent, always wordless, pecking at your mother’s patience until she steps back, breathless, needing a moment’s calm from the chaos you serve up daily.

You can always find me when I sneak into the basement to hide with the laundry and a magazine.

Your sippy cups are endless libations to the grunge gods who lurk under the sofa and in the cracks of the cupboards and under your chin. We sweep them away, every night a spring cleaning, grime sliding down the drain with the last of the bubbles.

O child, my own…you are mine so shortly, so incandescently, so fleetingly.

And I bless the breath of your baby-curled head.

And I live in the tight grip of your grime-curled hand.

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8 Responses to O Child

  1. sierramadre says:

    God, bless him…and you. Psalm 91

  2. Imagine the chaos and grime if they were both boys!

    That transition from baby to boy is so amazing and sad and beautiful. I can’t speak for what it is like with girls, but I have loved watching it with Calvin and Hobbes even while I grieve the passing of their babyhood.

  3. Gibby says:

    “every night a spring cleaning”

    So true!
    Precious post!

  4. So sad, and yet, so happy! But I’m clinging to the hope that no matter his age, my boy will never love anyone the way he loves his mama. Right?

  5. What a beautiful child. Bittersweet, isn’t it?

  6. evenshine says:

    SM- RIGHT. (um, I think…)

  7. faemom says:

    That was beautiful and amazing.

  8. cynthia says:

    My thoughts exactly … except you’ve described my feelings about my baby/boy way better than I ever could.

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