Perfect Age

23 Apr

I found myself laying in bed this morning with Lucas snuggled close thinking that this is the perfect age. 

Mere minutes before, Tim had opened our bedroom door and I heard Lucas run in at full speed.  He wasn’t running towards the toys, the games or even the beloved bathroom cabinets.  He was running towards me.  Seconds later, he was smothering me with morning hugs and resting his sweet, silky head against my shoulder. 

He still smells like a baby — except on those hot spring days when he smells like a sweaty, dirty little boy, adorable in its own right.  And, this morning, that heavenly baby smell – Dreft intermingled with Aveeno soap and a touch of Cheerios – was intoxicating. 

I wonder how much longer he’ll want to run to me with hugs and kisses.  How much longer he’ll look to me for approval before waving at a new friend.  How much longer he’ll want to hold my hand when walking down the driveway.  How much longer he’ll want to run to my bedroom instead of his toys. 

These are the moments I’d like to pause.  I’d like to freeze frame and always remember that sweet baby smell, that silky baby hair, that soft baby skin and those red baby cheeks.  I never want to forget the way his foot – still chubby with baby fat – feels pressed against my legs when I’m holding him, or the way his hair falls into eyes and over his ears seemingly days after we get it cut. 

It won’t be long before I’m not rolling over in bed at night onto leftover Cheerios cast aside by a baby more interested in diving onto pillows.  Or, grabbing at my foot from the sharp bite of a magnet tossed onto the kitchen floor instead of placed back on the refrigerator.

And while each age will likely be perfect in its own way, this age, right now, looks about as close to perfection as I’ve ever seen.

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