He traces my eyebrow with one chubby finger.

“You make me so happy, mama,” he whispers.

We are lying nose to nose on my pillow. It’s early. We’re the only two awake. Pete snores softly on the other side of the bed. For now, this is my Micah time.

This is our morning ritual.

He wakes up at 5am like clockwork, calls for me, and I come. And every morning he asks the same question, “I come your bed, mama?”

Even though he already knows the answer.

A bottle of milk, a teddy bear, a stuffed dog, and one pacifier later he is ensconced on his own pillow between Pete and me. He traces my other eyebrow.

“Eye-bouw,” he lisps.

“Yes,” I whisper back.

“Nosie,” chubby finger to my nose. “Eyewashes,” and I close my eyes tight, trusting that his little fingertip won’t prod too hard.

“Micah,” I breathe.

His eyes whip up to mine, his face pressed in as close as he can get.

“You make me so happy.”

He grins. And we hug tight, tight, monkey tight. It’s now safe for the day to begin.

{Thanks to Jozie for the beautiful photo.}


Pausing to count these gifts, these moments: #36-#40

A boy still a baby who loves me in the morning light.

Kisses generously given.

Warm breath on my sleeping cheek.

A raggedy toy bear that has traveled the world.

Legs hooked over mine under the covers.

The lisp, whispered word, “mama.”