Perfection

The train whistle was carrying loudly on the wind tonight, and the oven timer kept ringing reminding me to check the birthday cake baking in the oven. With those two simultaneous sounds, Colin woke up crying, "Mommy! Mommy!" Not a half-asleep beckon; an awake beckon.

I walked into his room and scooped him out of bed, feeling his frustration. I hate being woken from my deep sleep by that blasted train! I carried my warm, sleepy little boy to the rocking chair. Quiet rocking moments are few and far between these days.

I held him like I held him so many months ago, with his head on my right arm and my left arm keeping his lower half on my lap. And I rocked, and he blinked his eyes slowly, drifting back to sleep. His mouth moved as he was trying to wet the dryness away. His right arm was up around my neck, but started to fall as his muscles relaxed, so I rested it on his chest.

I stared at his face and was taken aback by the perfection of it. His cute little button nose. His sweet lips. His rosy, soft, warm cheeks. His short, thin eyelashes. His soft, blond hair already bedhead-style after only 2 hours of sleep. His belly hung out of his pajama shirt. His legs curled up so he fit in the confines of the chair.

We rocked for just a little while, just long enough for the train to go by and for him to be sleepy again. But in that five minutes, I saw pure sweetness in my baby? My big boy? I saw calm and love. I saw perfection.

Thank you, God, for my beautiful little boy and for that perfect moment you made tonight.