As I lie here, the discomfort of my side gnaws at me. The pressure on my back disrupts vital blood flow, and resting on my stomach feels impossible—like balancing on a bowling ball. At eight months pregnant, sleepless nights stretch on, filled with dreams of your hair color and whether your smile will mirror mine. The acid in my chest burns, while I both startle and find comfort in your gentle kicks.
It’s alright, little one, you can take my time.
In my arms, nursing every two hours, I fumble with a nipple shield as you scream. Your latch isn’t perfect, and I’m just a novice mom. At 3 a.m., tears flow, fueled by frustration as we both learn this intricate dance of mother and child. Eventually, you settle, your tummy full, sporting sleepy smiles as I breathe in your scent and wipe my tears.
You’re all mine. Sweet child, you can take my time.
We rock and crawl, pulling books from the shelves. Green purees slip down your chin, and your disgust is palpable as it splatters everywhere, including on me. I chase you, running circles to keep your inquisitive hands away from danger—electrical cords and dog food. My focus is solely on you, every waking moment. Even while you sleep, I sneak in just to glimpse your face, ensuring you’re warm, because after a long day, it only takes an hour post-bedtime for me to miss you.
Darling, you can take my time.
You wobble, run, and throw tantrums on the floor, and I find myself learning to set boundaries for the first time. Tears stream down both our faces as we navigate this new territory, your will clashing with mine. We swing in the park, explore trails, and I lose my voice from reading your favorite stories over and over again. Our days are filled to the brim with your endless energy.
It’s okay, sweet one, you can take my time.
Through regressions and growth spurts, we face potty training and sleep issues. I lie beside you for hours, waiting for your little heart to settle. I lose myself in watching your peaceful face, once my tiny boy, now growing so much.
Stay little. You can take my time.
With backpacks and preschool, we spend hours on the floor, pretending to be animals as I voice the rhino and you the lion. I lay out your clothes each night, cut the crust off your PB&J just the way you like it, and hold your hand as we stroll along sidewalks, discovering every facet of your personality.
Beloved boy, still my baby, you can take my time.
Before long, it will be tee-ball games and homework, first crushes and late-night talks. I’ll remind you to put on deodorant, to call me, to wake up for school. You’ll grow “too cool” for kisses, and there will be first dates, driving lessons, and college applications. I’ll bid you farewell with a temporary goodbye.
Even then, my sweet boy, as you grow, please always take my time.
You can forever take my time.
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In summary, the journey of parenting is filled with moments that are both challenging and beautiful. From sleepless nights to joyful laughs, every phase is precious and worth cherishing, as we navigate the complexities of growing alongside our children.