Per usual, I’m up late.

Just as I was thinking of hopping in the shower, I heard FoH.

I let his cries go. I did the obligatory 10-minute wait. It worked. He quieted down. I heard him nestle himself back in to his covers.

As I was making my way downstairs to switch out a load of laundry, I heard him. Loud and clear.

Mama.

I felt the natural knee jerk heart reaction — the tug and the pull. The yearning to run immediately into his room.

I waited.

Mama.

I waited.

Mama.

His voice full of softness.

I turned heel and walked in. To hell with waiting. Three mama‘s was waiting enough. He’s almost two now. Two! How this is possible, I’m not sure — the same words I believe I used when he was turning one.

These nights are numbered with him. The nights of needing me, of calling out for me … me … being the one to bring him comfort, to lull him back to sleep.

I sat there with him, holding just a little tighter; closer.

I couldn’t think of anything more perfect and more pure than a mother with her baby.

Goodnight.