Mr. Morgan

I have a half hour to write this post that I've been tossing around in my head for a few weeks now. After a half hour, I'm going to slip into my big, wide bed and drift off to dreamland. But until then, I must say that Morgan is so big I've spilled a few tears this week. He went to his first day of Joy School on Thursday, and his first day of Sunbeams and Primary today. Then he came home and set the table for dinner.

To celebrate, we made red velvet cake. He was in heaven. I think I was too.
 
How can I tell you that I find a best friend in my three year-old? He's so what I need every day. He's perfectly silly, smart, sugary, and stubborn. He loves to snuggle and when he's sleepy, he asks me to hold him because he still has just enough baby in him that that's what his little heart wants. The day I realize he's moved on from this, I will cry.

It all moves too fast, and then it's gone. Not entirely gone, but not entirely here ever again. I wish I knew how to keep it all, how to breathe in enough times each day to really savor what's sweet, as if deep breaths and sighs somehow fold away all the sweet moments I wish to forever remember.

How mixed are these feelings, even as I try sorting them out. Feelings of wanting nothing to change, knowing it all must. Bittersweet. If there is such a thing, I'm convince it's this. 

I'm convinced there's nothing quite like your firstborn, nothing like being a mother to a son. Nothing quite like the first time you realize that giving birth means that your children inherit more than just your eyes, or your smile. Somehow, in a moment, you realize there's more of you in them than you could have possibly ever imagined. It feels eternal. 

Eternal like stars in the sky and waves in the sea. Such is the love in my heart.

Oh, my three year-old.