This morning I watched you.
I watched you sleepily raised your arms up at me in the dark of our room.
I watched you lay your head down on my shoulder as I carried you down the hall.
I watched you bat your eyelashes at the sunlight peaking through your window.
I watched you snuggle closer in the nook as you drifted in and out of sleep.
I watched you smile up at me as if to say “good morning mama.”
I watched you toss and turn, fighting the urge to wake up.
I watched you curl your toes and search for warmth under your blankie.
I watched you stare back at me and utter your first words of the day, “Mama.”
I watched you crawl to the end of your bed, searching for your favorite book.
I watched you clutch your book and smile as you began to read to yourself.
I watched you crawl into my lap and melt into my arms as we rocked a little more.
I watched you climb down to go looking for your baby to snuggle.
I watched you hold your baby with such love as you carried her to the breakfast table.
I watched you sit up like such a big girl, eating your blueberries with your baby by your side.
And that’s when I realized it. How much time do I spend waiting instead of watching?
Waiting for the cries in the night to inevitably wake me up.
Waiting for the pitter patter of feet to be carried back to bed.
Waiting for the protests that follow.
Waiting for the tossing, turning, and kicking.
Waiting for you to climb out of bed, again.
Waiting for morning to come too soon.
So this morning, I watched you, and I saw what I’d been missing. The small moments in between the mundane. The blessing of a child to call my own. The adoration from a tiny human who wants nothing more than to just be seen and loved. Without all the waiting.