The pang of holding little ones in my arms

With each of the boys, there are moments, tattooed with all of the senses into my memory, of those deep and gorgeous snuggles with a sleeping child. When they are heavy and so relaxed that their weight includes a clutching need for love and protection. Red cheeks, an open little mouth, deep breaths punctuated with little moans of love for me. 

And certainly, my need to hold their heated, chubby limbs against my heart and face included the knowledge that all of these sensations were fleeting.

Dylan is outgrowing his desire for me to lay with him at night. I think back to the nights when I just wanted the day to end and he cried unless I stayed with him until he fell asleep. Often, especially as he grew older and I felt that surely he could find sleep himself, I would grumble in my restless desire to have some space, to have my body be my own. 

Now, I take every opportunity for a cuddle. Last night, after being fractious over bedtime teeth brushing, he pouted from his pillow and offered, "Mama, since it's special,you can sleep with me if you want." We had just stayed up late on Friday night to watch a movie, a special night.

I climbed right over him, I'm required to take the position next to the wall, and pet his hair. In moments he was sleeping. Moments are all I have left of having a small child. I greedily devour each one.