My Boy.

The room is dimly lit.

And it's just us.

My arms are full and so is my heart,

His breathing slows and I know he is asleep.

I kiss his head and drink in his baby smell.

His eyes are tightly shut, but as he smiles, so do they.

The shouting of the dishes and the threats of the unfolded laundry try to drown out this moment.

This moment with me and my boy.

I think about my life five years ago.

How I would sit and think about where I was and find something lacking.

That feeling seems so foreign to me now.

I talk to him in his sleep.

I talk to him about his day.

I talk to him about his daddy.

I talk to him about his Father.

I tell him about the difference he has already made in my life.

3 months this week? It seems impossible.

But I know to savor this moment, because no matter when it ends, it will be too soon.

I pray for his sleep.

I pray for his waking hours, for his growth and for his knowledge that he is loved.

I pray for his future wife.

Mostly, I pray that God's presence will be strong in his life and that He will be a best friend to him.

I understand the begging place.

 I thank God for my boy.

For the breath he breathes and for the cry that he cries.

I thank God for the love he has from family and friends

even though he has never physically met many of them.

I thank God for my parents.

They never let me know how hard it is to see your heart walk outside your body.

They gave me confidence to trust in God.

They never let me feel unloved. Not for a second.

I spend a lot of time talking to God about my little boys daddy.

How thankful I am, how undeserving I feel

how blessed I am to be his wife.

I am overcome with joy.

A tear rolls down my face and falls onto his.

I don't wipe it off.

I want it to soak in.

I want him to soak in every ounce of blessedness that I feel.

I pray I never forget this feeling.

This moment.

Right now.