July 26, 2014
I look at him looking at me, and I know he knows me. I know him, too.
I know how he likes to be held, and what times he needs a bottle. I rub his back as he gets drowsy, and watch his eyelids close. When he wakes up, he’ll want me to hold him. As I pick him up, I’ll earn a grin and he’ll earn a nuzzle. We will play and laugh and coo.
But always, in the back of my mind, I know there is another. Another mother that he doesn’t know. And who doesn’t know him.
What if I have to place him in her arms and watch him ride away? And what if he wants me and can’t have me. Lord, spare him that. Tuck him here with me.
But it’s complicated isn’t it, Lord? When I pray for Jase to stay, it feels like I’m praying for her to go. And in my darker moments, I am. Sometimes I don’t know which way is up, or how you want me to pray.