Sometimes, I take you for granted.
I take for granted this time that we share; this time while you’re just the right size to fit in my lap and have just enough patience to let me kiss your cheeks a hundred times.
This time when you can be so difficult, so stubbornly independent, so defiant in your exploration of life.
Sometimes I take it all for granted.
But other times, like tonight, when I stand at the doorway to your room watching you sleep, all I can think is:
What I wouldn’t give for you to stay this little, where I can cradle both of your hands in one of mine.
What I wouldn’t do to ensure that you never shed a tear over anything more than an unshared toy.
What I wouldn’t give to protect you from those knots that will form in the pit of your stomach as “life happens.”
What I wouldn’t do to make it so that the shadows in the corners of your bedroom at night were the only thing you ever had to be frightened of.
What I wouldn’t give to keep your heartbeat constant and steady. To ensure that your heart remained whole; never missing a beat and never shattering.
What I wouldn’t do to listen to your tiny breaths in perfect rhythmic synchrony with the steady rise and fall of your chest.
What I wouldn’t give to bottle up your laugh, carrying it with me always and cracking the cork anytime my heart needed to soar.
What I wouldn’t do to always feel the heavy weighted warmth of your cheek pressed up against my chest as you drift off to sleep.
What I wouldn’t give to keep all of your secrets locked away in my heart where no one could ever steal them.
What I wouldn’t do to replay the flutter of your eyelids and the curl of your smile as you dream peacefully, forever.
Little One, what I wouldn’t do to freeze these moments and memorize every second. What I wouldn’t give to make them last just a little while longer.
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