Up and Away (posted July 2009)

I stare at his face more now than I ever have before. I am mesmerized by the roundness of his checks, the soft curve of his nose, the full pucker of his lips. Not quite a boy, certainly not a baby. I feel the sharp angles and bones of boyhood starting to creep their pointy figures into his delicate silhouette. I search the tone of his voice; listening for any sign marking the end of babyhood, waiting for the voice I adore to crack and then disappear. A soprano replaced by a baritone. While now he talks and walks, plays on his own, and tells me 'no', I find him simultaneously slipping away and clinging to me. Our relationship is growing ever closer- we have our own language. He coos and whimpers; he rubs his head on my body like a cat caressing a leg. He must inexplicably sense I am waiting in helpless anguish for him to grow up and away from me, thus he gives me his love in the way a child knows how- he pats my face, kisses my lips, and rests in the curve of my arm. Thank you, my baby, for giving me this short reprieve.