Lil’ Paul has been keeping odd hours the last week or so…except for tonight. Tonight he was passed out on my shoulder at 6:00, which means he should be up by 4:30 in the morning. Other than tonight he has been staying up late, wanting to sit in my lap and watch the Olympics…well, he just asks to watch TV, the Olympics happen to be on. He has been waking by 5:00am.
Folks, that’s early for a two year old to rise and shine.
There are nights when I just want him to go to bed because I have a list of things that I need to get done before I fall out from sheer exhaustion. There are many mornings when I groan because he has awoken before the sun yet again. The mornings are when I wake and have my time that is just mine. It’s when I seek out Jesus, when I can be still and quiet with him.
However, in the midst of the desires to have some alone time or even productive time, I have to remind myself that I will not get this time back.
Yesterday morning, as I was holding Lil’ Paul who had beckoned me from a deep slumber by the cries of “Momma, hold you” at 5:13 AM, I couldn’t help but think of all the things that he does now that he will not let me do or do himself when he is…oh, say 13.
When Lil’ Paul is 13 he won’t cuddle up with me in the morning, sipping on his milk, slowly rendering me bald as he plays with my hair.
When he is 13 he won’t give me sweet little kisses on each side of my cheek. He also probably won’t try to lick my face, which will be a plus to his growing older.
When he is 13 he won’t want me to sing him to sleep and sing along to “Edelwiess”, “It is Well With My Soul”, “Jesus Loves Me” and “Oh How He Loves Us”.
When he is 13 the won’t tackle me with the hugeness of his hugs. This is one I hope doesn’t change. Hugs are my favorite.
When he is 13 he won’t bury his little face in my shoulder as he snuggles when he is tired.
When he is 13 he won’t run to door when he sees me come in from the hour I was away from him.
When he is 13 he won’t make silly faces, sending Gingernut and myself reeling with laughter.
When he is 13 he won’t fall asleep in my arms, giving me that sweet moment to look in to his face, give him a dozen soft kisses and dream about how God will use him.
When he is 13 he won’t reach up to take my hand in his, and if he does that hand won’t be so little anymore.
When he is 13 I imagine I will still see that sweet little boy who played with my hair as he drank his milk in the early morning hours.
So tomorrow, and in the days that follow, I’ll cherish it all…even the hair pulling moments.