Neither of them really stop going. But with him, we rarely get moments. He’s our little Jo on the go. And go he does. Following his big bro, to and fro. Our little Jo is ever onthego. He’ll give us a second, every now and then, stealing a quick snuggle or hug while on the run. He’s a lover. And he likes to break just long enough to feel secure. To know we’re here if he needs us. But mostly, he’s not one to s l o w.
And if he does slow down, he usually wants daddy. Mommy will suffice but only if daddy is nowhere to be found. Because for the most part, his very favorite person is his father. And really, I can’t blame him.
But today. Today, we got to have our moment. Our 2 minutes and fifty-nine seconds. When brother was at pre-school and we were in music. It settled itself discreetly after bell ringing and before Clapping Land. The player was set to a song that asked for rocking. The lights were set to a faint glow. And in the soft surroundings of the otherwise hard cinder blocked room, he snuggled in for the assignment. I held him in my lap, his chest melting into my bump and in an instant, I felt completely relaxed. Completely there. And I thought of how safe he makes me feel. Which is such a contradiction to the general rule. Because I am supposed to be the safe maker. I am the mother. The one who is supposed to soothe. But he soothed me. With his complete dedication to contentment. And to our moment.
And the song played on.
And I closed my eyes.
And I just thought about the beauty of that. That very moment. Where he stopped. And nestled in. And I hummed. And his little two year old fingers grazed against my chin. And though my eyes were closed and I wanted for a moment to open them, I could picture so perfectly how his blue eyes must have looked staring up at me in some form of wonderment. And I just couldn’t bring myself to give that up. I could tell he knew I was lost there. And that even at such a small age, he could feel my love for the very moment. And for him. And I prayed a silent thought that he would always look at me and see that love. That endless, never-wavering, intuitive love.
And then I thought about the reality. The reality that I have no idea who he will become. But how I know his heart. I know who he is now. In these very moments. I know him in a way that he will not, for a very long time. And I wanted for the moment to last. Last more than the song. Or I at least wanted someone to assure me that another two minute moment would come along. Because they make it so worth it.
These little people. They turn us all inside out. They make us wear our hearts outside for the world to see. They make us vulnerable. They make us close our eyes, in the middle of a room full of somewhat strangers and just be.
And we rocked. Back and forth. Forth and back. And it occured to me that I had no idea when we decided that children would be a part of us that they would actually be every part of us. That they would permeate every single part of what previously existed as me. I had no idea what and how they would teach me. And it’s becoming more apparent by the day that the teaching will never cease. And while I knew it, I don’t think I really knew what it would feel like to love them in every moment. Even if I don’t necessarily like the moment.
But in our moment, I liked him more than I like most anything. Or anyone.
And just as soon as the music had played, it began to fade. And he turned around. To face the world that, for that two plus minutes, had disappeared around us. For that two minutes and fifty-nine seconds. The flourescent lights reappeared and the reality of the moment was laid to rest. But the memory will be imprinted on me all day. Because who knows when that moment will come again. Very soon, I hoped to myself. Very soon.
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