to baby S.

It’s early morning as I sneak into his room to watch him sleep, cursing the creaking door while tip-toeing across the threshold. Warm, new sunlight barely touches his face; only the left side is visible from under the blanket in which he’s he’s burrowed. In and out, the breaths come and go. The twitch of his fingers, a slightmy upturned lip- the baby is dreaming.

What is it you wish for in your sleep, tiny boy? What adventures find you and take you away while I’m across the house in my own inner world?

I know those eyelids soon will break apart and motion will possess your miniature limbs until the sun sets again. But for now you are potential energy curled into a fetal ball.

I sneak back past the creaky threshold and whisk the eggs and heat up the skillet and think of ways to not forget this day- these fragile moments that get lost in their deceptive monotony, once gone never to return.