For two hours I lay beside him in perfect stillness. For some of it I read my book through the crack of sunlight coming in through the drawn shade, for some of it I slept, and for the rest of it I just stared at his lips and enjoyed the soft touch of his warm hands wrapped around my arm. I found myself just staring at his tiny elbow jutting out into the air beyond the blanket. I thought long and hard about that elbow and how tiny and soft and perfect it is. How someday that elbow will be much bigger and rougher, calloused by sun and age. How someday I will not be allowed to sleep beside him and stare at his grown-up elbow. And I smiled. I smiled because I was supposed to be doing so many things with his nap time today, but instead I lay still and burned his elbow into my memory.
As we lay there still just breathing in and out, suddenly the unexpected tapping of rain began to make its way across the roof growing from a light trot to a loud gallop. At this, Finny kicked his legs and tossed and moaned and I prayed that he stay asleep just a little while longer. Not because I needed to get just one more chore done, not because I needed to get just one more email read, but because I wanted more time to just be next to him, my perfect baby boy with the scabby knees and the sweaty head and the little, red lips.
Today I took a nap with Finny and I got a surprising amount of work done. I committed every soft inch of him to memory so that someday when he’s old and grown, I’ll have that moment when he let me lay so close to him I could feel his breath on my face, see his chest rise and fall, and wonder how one tiny elbow could fill me with such immeasurable joy.
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